Drowning in Darkness
by Miyako Suou
Summary: The war is over. But Draco still needs saving... from himself. Can anyone help him? And will he even let them? Anything could happen. Graphic content, please be WARNED. Dark. Barely-there Drarry if you tilt your head and squint.
1. Prologue

Finally got inspiration for another fic. This one's going to have chapters! heart This is only a prologue. It's a tad graphic, just to warn anybody who is ignoring my other warnings and rating.

**Disclaimer: The plot and characters of Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling.**

_I feel like a monster._

He sat in the darkened bathroom, staring at the white expanse of skin in front of him, unmoving and silent, a statue of marble. The sound of a single droplet of water falling to the bottom of the sink echoed eerily to his ears. There was no other sound to be heard, the house was empty. Everything was empty. His head, his heart, his soul… did he even have a soul? If he did, it was filthy and slimy, it would stick to the purity of a clean soul like a festering sore, consuming it until it was black… just like his. He really was a disgusting creature, one who existed solely in the darkness.

The blade, so terrible and cruelly sharp rested on the counter, waiting for his hand to close around it. The longer he stared at it, the edge shining in the muted light, the more he wanted it. The urge to grasp it to him tightly was overwhelming, so he succumbed to his darkest of desires. The knife was his. He didn't need to explain himself to it; it just lay there, accepting the inevitable without protest.

The knife caressed him, drew its cool length along his skin, and he shivered in anticipation. Pressing harder, the blade made a soft indent in his flesh until it gave, and it slid in. The sweet surge of pain suffused him wholly, and he sank deeply into its merciless embrace. It ran through his body, along each and every sensitive nerve ending, so enrapturing it entered his very veins. It flowed along with his blood, running so intensely crimson down his arm, warm fingers drawing themselves upon his skin.

He inhaled the delicious tangy scent, eyelids lidded and pale lips parted, letting the fragrance roll over him like the most decadent and delightful perfume. He was completely intoxicated with the smell; it was invading him. He let out a soft moan, and then softly and slowly dragged his tongue along his forearm, letting it lap up the salty mixture of sweat and blood.

He ended with the gentlest of kisses, placed with gossamer lightness overtop the aching wound.

Finished, he took out the roll of gauze from under the sink, followed by a bandage to wrap up this newest wound. Smiling slightly, a scarlet stain still coating his lips, he ran a delicate, pale finger across his wrist, following the parallel white lines that marred his perfect skin.

He would not inflict himself on anything from the outside world. He would not infect all those lovely, pristine creatures with the blackness of his own irreparable choices. The scorchingly bright light of day was for those beautiful beings alone.

But the night… the night belonged to him.

So how was that? A bit creepy, no? Don't worry, it'll get better… I hope. Please Review, it only takes a couple seconds! Even really short comments are appreciated.


	2. A Purpose in Life

Well, I FINALLY updated this after what, two months? Sorry to anyone who wanted me to continue writing, I was just hit with major writer's block for this one. I apologize, but it honestly felt like getting walloped in the head by a frying pan.

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for idiotic purposes of my own.**

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Harry Potter stared at the flame-haired girl in front of him in complete shock, wondering how on earth this could be happening to him.

"What?" he asked dumbly, not wanting to hear her repeat those dreaded words, and yet asking anyway.

"I said 'it's over' Harry. I'm breaking up with you," Ginny Weasley's sharp, unwavering eyes never left his face.

"What, but why?" he persisted in disbelief. "What did I do?"

"It's more like what you _didn't_ do, Harry," she shook her head, her tendrils of soft red locks curling around her face.

"And what was that?" he felt his fingernails digging into his palms and his hands clenched angrily at the unfairness of it all.

"You didn't love me, Harry," she said quietly.

"But I did, I do! Of course I love you, Ginny," he argued, still trying to understand how this had come about. Wasn't it only yesterday he had taken her out on a romantic dinner?

She didn't know, did she? He'd been so careful to hide it, not show how he truly felt. Oh hell, she must know if she was breaking up with him. And she was. He wasn't sure whether he felt angry or just relieved. Both, if he were to be quite honest.

Ginny was shaking her head again, sadly, but with an air of finality. "Harry, you know I'll always love you. I just don't love you in the romantic sense, and I know you feel the same. You've been trying to hide it, but honestly, give me more credit then that! I've only known you since I was eleven."

"What do you mean? I love you, I do!" he insisted, knowing even as he pleaded with her to believe him, he didn't believe it himself.

"Harry, why won't you admit it, even to yourself? You don't love me, at least not _that_ way. I can see it; I can _feel_ it, so why can't you?"

So he parted from Ginny, letting her believe that he thought he still loved her, even though it was a lie. Was he supposed to feel guilty about it, even though they had separated without hurting one another? He didn't know, but his insides writhed with the guilt, all the same.

Deciding he needed a distraction, he met up with Ron and Hermione at a small café on Diagon Alley, thankful they had showed up on such short notice.

"Of course we came," Hermione explained patiently to him. "You're our friend, and something's obviously bothering you. Tell us."

He did, sighing and allowing his head to drop into his hands after the tale was finished. He really did not know what to do now that Ginny had left him. At least while she was there he knew what was expected of him.

Ron patted his arm awkwardly, "Come on, mate, cheer up! Look on the bright side. You're young, and single – not shackled to some nagging woman!"

"RON!" Hermione smacked him and he winced.

"I wasn't talking about you, darling… "

His fiancée went into a huff, giving Ron the cold shoulder. Harry couldn't help but smile as his friend frantically tried to appease his lover. At the same time, he couldn't help but feel slightly lost, like he had no place in the world anymore. Ginny had been his purpose. Marry her. Have children. Happily ever after. It figured that he'd get no fairy tale ending. He supposed it didn't fit the tale to begin with anyway. His tale was dark.

Still feeling misplaced, he stood.

"I have to go," he heard himself say, and began walking.

Ron and Hermione called after him, argument momentarily forgotten, but he didn't answer as he drifted out of the café. It was night now, the moon hidden behind a cloud, the stars veiled from sight. He wasn't sure where he was going; he had no destination anymore. Ginny had been his track in life for so long that now that she was gone, he wasn't sure what to do. He let his feet carry them where they would, and retreated to his mind to regroup his thoughts. He still had a job as an auror, but besides that he had nothing, really. Ron and Hermione would be there for him, as always, but they were going to be married soon. He didn't want to intrude on their happiness with his own problems, especially this self-identity crisis he seemed to be having at the moment.

"So, what'll it be?" a voice interrupted his thoughts.

He came back to the present to realize he'd wandered into a smoky, dimly lit bar without noticing and was now standing in front of the counter staring into space. He blinked several times to focus on the barkeeper's broad, grimy face.

"Er. Firewhisky," he replied somewhat automatically.

The drink was shoved in front of his a moment later and he settled onto one of the stools beside a cloaked man. The stranger ignored him, and Harry briefly wondered if he was still awake.

"Hey! You're Harry Potter!" his wandering thoughts were interrupted as the barman spotted the tell-tale scar that was peeking traitorously through his fringe.

He flattened his hair nervously, knowing full well that the damage was done.

"I…" he tried to say.

Then he noticed that the cloaked man had whipped around at the sound of his name and appeared to be studying him with unseen eyes.

"What are you doing here, Potter? This place is for those who roam the Darkness. People like you, one who can walk in the Light does not belong here," the enigmatic figure said in a low voice.

"Do I know you?" Harry asked quietly, curious as to who this mysterious cloaked person could be.

"I hope you have not forgotten me already," the man threw back his hood suddenly, revealing the hidden visage beneath.

"Malfoy," Harry said, not sure what else to say. He had not seen the other man in over a year, not since the war had ended.

"Yes, it's me, Potter," Draco said quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know," he responded truthfully.

"Then leave," Malfoy urged him, without malice. "You don't belong here."

"And you do?" Harry asked, shooting the blond a searching glance.

Draco smiled, a smile that did not reach his pale grey eyes. "You know I do, Potter."

"I don't know anything anymore," he admitted, taking a sip of Firewhisky that burned all the way down his throat.

"About time you figured it out," Draco chuckled mirthlessly.

"What are you doing in here, then?" he asked instead of replying.

"Drinking. What do you think?" Draco grinned, showing teeth. "Speaking of which, another Firewhisky!"

The barman nodded and got him another.

Draco stretched out to retrieve the drink, and as he did, the sleeve of his cloak fell back, revealing a long, thin, white forearm. For some reason, Harry's gaze was drawn to it, and what he saw immediately drew all his attention. Draco must have noticed this sudden shift and looked down at what Harry was looking at. Realizing what he was seeing, Draco watched Harry's face and waited. Waited for the inevitable reaction.

Scars. Slashes of white against his alabaster skin, scars that decorated his wrists like grisly tattoos.

"You tried to commit suicide?!" Harry asked in growing horror. Oh, Draco…

He laughed bitterly, "Oh, no, Potter. I'm much too Slytherin for that – self-preservation and all that." He leaned forward, eyes silvering with pain. "If I were actually brave enough to kill myself, I would have cut myself like this."

He drew the tip of one slender finger vertically down one of the veins in his wrist. The robe slid down further with this action to reveal the Dark Mark burned into his skin, still black and as ghastly as Harry remembered. They both stared at it, and Harry tensed, waiting for the former Death Eater to scream at him, or snarl at him to leave him alone.

Instead, Draco intoned softly, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "It won't come off. My father, he tried to remove his so many times. But it's there permanently, marking me eternally damned." He turned to Harry, savior of the wizarding world. "You know? I'm _glad_ it won't come off. That way I'll never forget… never, no matter what, the things I did… and those I didn't. I'll remember them until the very end."

"When is the end?" Harry asked him carefully.

He shrugged fluidly, "I don't know. Could be a million years from now. Hell, it could be tomorrow, today even. Does it matter? Does anything?"

When Draco spoke those words, Harry realized that he had been thinking those words only a few hours earlier as he tried to cope with the break-up. It seemed he and Draco both had the same problem: neither of them thought they had anything to live for.

It hurt somehow, to see his former nemesis on the brink of suicide and hiding here in the dark when before he had strode about as if he owned the world. He had been broken, and now he was sitting here, like so much ruined garbage. He needed to be fixed. It was painful to look at this shattered creature skulking about here when his memory of the man said he should be sneering at him and saying 'Potter' in that smooth, drawling voice.

"It matters," Harry heard himself say. "Everything matters. You just can't see it from here, because everything here is so dark. Come back, into the light, and you'll understand better."

"I can't do that," Draco sounded almost wistful as he said this.

"Yes you can. Come with me, we'll go together and it'll be fine, you'll see."

It just showed how wrecked the man's spirit was when he allowed Harry to lead him out of the bar by one pale, slender hand.

Harry wasn't sure how he had ended up in that bar, but he was glad that he had. Otherwise, he wouldn't have found Draco. He'd never tell Draco, but the other man was saving Harry as much as Harry was saving him.

Now that he had a purpose, everything would be fine.

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Thank you for reading! I know, this fic is completely different from the other one I've been working on. Just goes to show how different I can make my stories. If anyone has any suggestions for improvements or whatever, feel free to comment.


	3. Misunderstanding

Hello again. I feel very pleased that I'm able to update this so soon, but don't count on it happening anytime soon again, cause the Finals really _are_ upon us. I may not survive this particular battle, so if I don't update again, you may assume the worst.

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for my own use.**

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Draco woke the next morning with a dull pain pulsing in the back of his head and sore muscles that protested in anguish when he pulled himself into a sitting position. The sun that was shining through a nearby window was hitting him right in the eyes, and he blinked away tears from his watering eyes. Groaning, he covered his eyes with one arm, and swung his legs over to the ground.

Looking around, he realized that not only was he still dressed in the cloak he'd been wearing last night, but he was nowhere he recognized. He had slept on a green couch the night before, and it was situated in an unfamiliar room. It looked like the living room of a flat. There were magazines and newspapers in a messy pile in one corner and a coffee table covered in coasters that must have never been used judging by the stained rim marks left by mugs on the wood. There was even a strange sort of muggle contraption in the corner.

Where was he? Last night he remembered talking to Potter. Yes, he had seen Potter at that bar, and remembered a few other things. He hadn't had _that_ much Firewhisky, had he? Damn…

The answer to all his questions walked into the living room, still blinking in a somewhat bleary fashion. Potter was still as messy as ever, with his dark hair sticking up in every direction. The man stared at him and appeared to think very hard about something.

Finally, he asked with a stifled yawn, "Want some coffee?"

"Where's your British pride now Potter?" Draco smirked. "No tea?"

"Nah, I've got a taste for coffee now," Potter mumbled as he traipsed into the adjoining kitchen. "It's all they serve at the auror office now, you see. Once the warming charms wear off, it still tastes okay cold…"

"That's disgusting, I hope you know," Draco narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah, but then again, I don't suppose you've ever had to write out reports after midnight so you can hand it in the next morning only to get another one?"

"No."

"So, what _do_ you do, then?" this was said while Potter used some sort of strange muggle machine to do… something. Draco wasn't entirely sure.

"Wander about at night. Sleep all day. Whatever I feel like really," Draco wasn't sure he could actually tell Potter exactly what he'd been up to. The auror surely wouldn't approve of his help in the smuggling business even though Mundungus Fletcher had claimed to know the famous icon. It was really pitiful that a Malfoy had been reduced to this, but he really wasn't fit for anything else. No one would hire anyone who had the Dark Mark.

"Really," Potter didn't sound like he believed him. Well, tough.

"Potter, I have this vague recollection of meeting you in a bar. Tell me, how did I end up on your couch? Just curious," Draco was sure this would be interesting.

"You said you belonged in darkness," Potter replied, suddenly quiet. "And that I didn't. So I… decided to bring you back into the Light."

"And what if I don't want to be here?" asked the former Death Eater.

"You followed me easily enough last night," replied Potter. "Didn't voice a single word of protest, just curled up on my couch and went straight to sleep."

"Well," Draco wasn't sure what to think of that. "I was drunk."

"Yes, you were," Potter grinned.

"I should go," he muttered as he finally tried to drag himself to his feet.

"Don't try that yet," Potter's voice seemed far away, and a roaring wind filled his ears. He sat back down.

"Here," a hangover potion was lobbed in his general direction, and with the reflexes of a seeker, he snatched it out of the air.

Gulping it down, he was aware of Potter pouring himself a cup of coffee from the muggle thing. Potter passed him a cup as well, and he tossed that back as well, swearing when the hot liquid burned his tongue. It was strong, and the heavy flavour remained on his tastebuds, but the caffeine woke him up sufficiently.

When he'd finished with this, he tried to get up again, this time managing not to fall over. Wiping his mouth, he turned to the other man.

"Well, it's been interesting, Potter, but I've got to be going now," Draco turned towards the door.

"What? Wait, you…" Potter reached out a hand to stop him, before haltingly lowering it again. Was it just Draco, or did Potter seem a little lost?

"What is it, Potter?" Draco made sure to give him a cold look. Nobody pitied a Malfoy, no matter how pitiable they seemed. Better that they hate them.

And yet, Potter didn't take the hint. "Will you be coming back?"

"I don't thing so, Potter," he sneered. "You see, we're entirely too different. You are the 'Boy-who-Lived' and I am an ex-Death Eater. This is just not going to work out."

"You can't leave," the dark-haired man's green eyes pleaded with him.

"Watch me," Draco snarled, and was gone.

Potter just didn't understand. He was a Death Eater for Merlin's sake! He was evil, beyond redemption. Didn't Potter know all of the horrible things he'd done in the past? He _had_ to; he was an Auror! You could hardly be worse than if you were one of the followers of the darkest wizard in recorded history!

And yet, here that idiotic, bespectacled git was trying to be… urg, dare he say it _friendly_ to him! What the _hell_ was he _thinking_? He was Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding world, champion of Goodness and Light and whatever other things he seemed to uphold. Gryffindorish things. He and that prat seemed to have opposing values, so how could they be anything but enemies? They were destined for conflict. Gryffindor vs. Slytherin, Good vs. Evil, Potter vs. Malfoy. That's how the world worked, and if Potter was too much of a clueless fool to realize this, then it was up to him to put things right. Them fighting was normal. They hated each other, right?

Besides, Potter didn't _know_. He didn't know the things he was still doing even today. He didn't know Malfoy smuggled contraband into Knockturn Alley to make money so he could live in a run-down flat in the slums. He didn't know that he often used a Disillusionment Charm in order to steal food from Muggle grocery stores so that he wouldn't starve to death. He didn't know that he did all of this in spite of the fortune he had in Gringotts and Malfoy Manor. He didn't know that his parents didn't even realize what was going on or even where he was since he hadn't spoken to them in a year. He never visited his father in Azkaban or his mother who was under house arrest. How could he tell that to Potter, Potter who didn't even _have_ parents thanks to the Dark Lord?

And the scars. He didn't realize that rather than healing, Draco was adding even more scars to the ones he already had – figuratively and physically.

"Dammit, Potter!" he snarled as he made his way back to Knockturn Alley. "Why do you have to make things so difficult!"

Malfoy just didn't understand. He was trying to help him! He _knew_ what Malfoy had been, all the horrible things he had done. He had seen it with his own eyes. But he also realized the extents a person would go to in order to protect those he cared about. He understood that a Slytherin was very interested in keeping their own hide intact and that doing Voldemort's bidding had appeared to be the best way. He knew that not everybody was brave.

He just wanted to see a part of the Malfoy he used to know, for something to remain constant in his life. He never thought he would, but he sort of missed hearing Malfoy spit his name out in that particularly venomous way he had. He missed that self-satisfied, aloof sneer that was his constant expression when he was around. Hell, he even missed how he was the only one who didn't think he deserved all that attention and called him 'Scar-head' all the time.

He really didn't want Malfoy to lose that spirit he used to have. Sure, it had been a wicked, nasty spirit, but still… and besides, he needed something to do. Malfoy didn't know that he had lost his purpose in life. Now that everything was over and done, there was nothing for him to do. No expectations beyond killing Voldemort, since no one – him included – believed he would live. He had to feel like he was doing _something_ to help someone, even if it was that twit Malfoy.

"Malfoy…" he muttered, shaking his head. "Why do you have to make things so difficult!"

When one really considered it, they actually understood each other quite well.

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There you go. Hope it was okay, but if it wasn't up-to-par, then let me know. I really will not update again till after Finals and Christmas, so see you all in the New Year. And Merry Christmas!


	4. A Fruitless Search

Hello! Sorry for taking such a long time to update, but I had four final exams to write. They're done now, and I totally kicked their asses, if I do say so myself. Anyway, on with the story!

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for my own use.**

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After Draco had gone, Harry had tried to look for him, but by then it was far too late. Maybe it he had immediately run after him and somehow grabbed him before he could Apparate he could have stopped him, but that's not what happened. By the time Harry followed, Draco could have been anywhere in London.

He retreated back to his flat dejectedly, wondering where the blond man could have gone and what he was doing. If he really considered it, he knew that there was no way that Draco had gone back to Malfoy Manor. If he had thought there was a possibility that maybe Draco had returned to his ancestral home he could have gone there to find him. But no. Draco was no doubt hiding somewhere in the darkness waiting until the light went away and he could come out again.

He really needed this. It was slightly terrifying how much he needed this, even if he wasn't entirely certain what 'this' was. Helping to save Draco Malfoy, it sounded insane, right? Enemies weren't supposed to help one another at all, were they? And yet, here he was, completely distressed because Malfoy had immersed himself in a world of darkness that would undoubtedly destroy him. It just wasn't right, somehow.

He decided that it would be best to contact his friends again – he HAD abandoned them last night, after all. Plus, Hermione might understand what was going on. She had a sort of intuition that he would never possess.

"There you are, mate! We thought you'd gotten in some sort of trouble last night!" Ron slapped him on the back.

"We were really worried!" Hermione put her hands on her hips. "Harry Potter, just what do you think you're up to, disappearing like that!"

"I'm sorry," he replied, trying to look repentant. "I wasn't thinking. But you'll never guess who I saw last night!"

"Was it Ginny?" Ron asked hopefully, perhaps thinking that the couple had made up with each other.

Harry sighed and shook his head, "No, actually."

Was it disturbing that he hadn't even given thought to Ginny since he'd run into Malfoy? She'd faded to the back of his mind, but now that he was reminded, his stomach gave a lurch of sadness and guilt. Poor Ginny. She deserved so much better than someone who even put their old arch-rival's needs before her own. So this was the extent to which his hero-complex ran? That he forgot the break-up with the girl he had expected to marry? He really was terrible when you thought about it.

"Who was it then, Harry?" demanded Hermione, interrupting his train of thought. Perhaps she could see the strange things he was thinking on his face, because she looked suspicious.

"Malfoy. I saw Malfoy last night in a bar," Harry replied, feeling a tad uneasy at how the pair would take his story. Maybe they wouldn't understand, but if he kept it from them and then they found out, they'd be twice as suspicious.

"That little ferret," growled Ron predictably. "What was he doing, being his usual prattish self?"

"No," Harry sounded surprised himself, even to his own ears. "He was… darker. Not at all like himself, and to tell you the truth, mate, I think I preferred the old Malfoy."

"You mean he feels remorse for his actions?" asked Hermione excitedly. Harry could see where this was going. It had, after all, been the condition for Voldemort to regain his soul.

"I'm not sure, but I think he has finally admitted responsibility for what he did," he heard himself say. "But it was really kind of disturbing. It was like he thought he was this dark, evil creature that had some sort of contagious disease or something."

"Well, he _did_ let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts," Ron pointed out.

"Because Voldemort was threatening to kill his parents!" Harry argued, and it was the same argument he'd used at his testimony at Draco's trial.

"He didn't have to do it!" Ron was slowly turning red. "If he hadn't done it, Bill wouldn't have been attacked!"

"And his parents would have been murdered," Harry said quietly. "What would you have done differently Ron?"

"I wouldn't have!" Ron insisted stubbornly.

"You could never know what you'd do, Ron," Harry sighed. "Not until it's happened to you. And it'll never happen to me, because _my _parents are already dead."

"Ron, Harry's right. Malfoy was doing it because he was scared for his life and his parents'. I'm sure he would never have done it otherwise," Hermione said matter-of-factly.

"Not everyone can be brave," Harry added. "It's just another character flaw that makes us human, and I can't blame him for it."

"Fine, you two ganging up on me," grumbled Ron, although the colour was fading from his cheeks. "So, what happened?"

"He was completely sloshed, and he ended up sleeping on my couch," Harry hung his head at this confession.

"He WHAT?!" both his friends yelled in shock.

"I dunno, I was kinda drunk, too," Harry mumbled. "But he really needs help. He has a problem. Guys, he's been cutting himself."

"That's disgusting," Ron pulled a face.

Hermione nodded her head, "You're right, Harry. He really needs help, but are you sure that it should be you who does it? Isn't it better if he saw a professional?"

"He'd never agree to that," Harry shook his head. "Neither would I, frankly."

"So what are we supposed to do about it?" Ron asked, shaking his head. "You know I'm no good at stuff like that Harry."

"First we have to find him," Harry replied grimly.

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"Give it up, Harry," Ron said wearily. "He's obviously not here, and if he is, he's disguised himself so well that we can't recognize him."

It had been days, but still Draco made no reappearance. Seeing as he had not seen Draco before then in months, it was certain he knew how to hide himself, and do it well.

"He probably doesn't want our help anyway," Ron continued. "If he did, he would have come back, right?"

He and Ron had tried going into the streets in disguise to ask people if they had hear about any appearance of Draco Malfoy, but no one knew. So far, they'd only checked Diagon Alley, but in his gut he knew that Draco was down there somewhere on Knockturn Alley.

"Harry, you're my best mate, but I have to call it quits. I have a report due tomorrow morning sitting on my desk only half done. I gotta go," Ron took a half turn and Apparated, no doubt to the Ministry to finish the dreaded report.

He just had to work up the courage to admit that that is where Draco undoubtedly was and where he would find the blond man. He knew Draco wasn't a good man, but he had the potential, as all people do, to redeem themselves. He had to believe that Draco could turn his life around, or there was no point in finding Draco now.

He'd just made the decision to deepen his disguise and venture into Knockturn Alley when a silver terrier Patronus appeared in front of him. "Harry, we need you in the office right away. Come in as fast as you can.

Harry had no choice but to obey.

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There you go! Virtual cookies to anyone who reviews! Please, tell me what you think, a writer needs feedback like normal people need oxygen!


	5. Sighting Draco Malfoy

Greetings once again, valued reader. I'm hoping to update more often now that a new semester has started and exams aren't looming over us. I'm hoping that I can soon wrap this one up, but you know how plans go. Wrong, at the most annoying times.

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for my own use.**

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"Come on, Malfoy. We have a job to do."

Draco had always hated Mundungus Fletcher. Maybe it was his way of talking to him like he was a cockroach. Maybe it was because he knew subconsciously that he deserved to be treated like that anyway. But he hated it all the same. He had never really thought about why he was a smuggler to begin with, but he'd just ended up there.

He still recalled the day it had happened. He'd been at a bar, getting smashed, which was not unusual for him. A man had sat down next to him and began talking to him. He remembered answering them, but for the life of him could not recall the questions or the answers he'd given in response. It was all very vague, but he knew he'd agreed to become a smuggler for the man. He didn't remember the man's face or his name, but he did remember the contact name he'd been given – Mundungus Fletcher. Which was how he'd ended up here. But he got paid for his work, and he couldn't get a job anywhere else, so why not? It was society's fault for branding him, or the Dark Lord's fault for marking him, but it wasn't his.

But he knew it was. All his fault, everything. The attack on Hogwarts, Dumbledore's death, not stopping Granger being tortured, not trying to help his fellow students being held in his basement… it just snowballed into something huge and impossible not to notice. It was the first thing everyone saw, his only defining feature anymore.

"What are we doing?" he asked Dung, as everyone seemed to call him. For some reason, he had never had any objections to the nickname. Draco himself had hated it when Potter and Weasel had called him Ferret, mostly because it brought up some particularly painful and embarrassing memories each time.

"We're taking this load into Knockturn Alley. Must be delivered by sun-up, so we'd best hurry," Dung was adamant.

"Gotcha," he gave a quirky salute and ran off into the darkness. He was lookout. It was always his job to make sure that no one ever saw when Dung and the others moved the material. If necessary, he was also the designated 'distraction'. In a worst-case senario he'd been told to reveal his identity, because the appearance of an ex-Death Eater would surely cause all the attention to move to Draco. He was a decoy. Draco didn't even mind, although he supposed he should. His reputation had meant everything to him, once.

The job was long and arduous, so he was glad that he was only lookout. Even if it meant a long time searching the environment for a threat, it was sure better than shifting that load of whatever with the rest. Sun-up would be soon, so they'd better hurry.

Then he saw movement. He froze. Someone was coming. He'd heard the slight 'crack' of Apparation and the gentle swish of a cloak. He sent the rest the warning signal which they'd been told to look out for, then went to intercept whoever it was. He ran as quickly as he could toward the slight noises he kept hearing – the click of a heel on the street, or the sound of breathing or moving air.

He nearly had a heart-attack as he turned the corner and ran straight into someone he thought he'd never see anymore.

"Malfoy!" Ron Weasley backed up, looking startled.

"Weasley," he snapped, trying not to appear as if he'd just had the shit scared out of him.

"What are you doing here?" asked the Auror suspiciously.

"What are _you_ doing here?" shot Draco in return.

Weasley scowled. "Patrolling, what else would an _Auror_ be doing? Now what business do you have sneaking around here?"

"I happen to _live_ around here, Weasely," he drawled in reply. "Now were you actually going to say anything of importance, or should I just continue what I was doing?"

"By all means, carry on," snarled the red-head.

Draco took a chance and began walking back in the direction of the hidden smugglers, hoping that if he headed that way, Weasley would find his company so distasteful that he'd leave. It seemed to work, because the other man turned and Apparated away. With a sigh of relief, he returned and signed 'all clear' to the others.

**********

He'd been back on the streets a few days when he heard the rumor. Someone was looking for Draco Malfoy. It spread all down the streets that a person or people had been poking around and asking if anyone knew his location or where he could be found. In fact, Dung confronted him about it as soon as he'd heard.

"Are you sure you're still safe to work with us?" he sneered to Draco.

"Of course, I've never been found out before now, so why should it matter now?" he snorted, as if the thought amused him. It didn't, but Dung didn't need to know that.

"Oh? So what of the rumors I've been hearing about you leaving the Dancing Veela a few nights ago with none other than the Savior, Mr. Golden Boy himelf?"

Draco's head snapped around. Who had seen them? Anyone could have, he supposed, cause someone had identified Potter at the bar that night – the barman, he remembered. Great.

"Where'd you hear that?" Draco hissed.

"Oh, I have a few sources," Dung waved a hand vaguely. "So what if it's Potter searching for you now, eh Malfoy? I know he's a determined son-of-a-bitch, and he's an Auror, so if he's after you, you'd better have a plan Malfoy."

"He'll never find me," Draco said confidently. "I'm almost certain I'll never see him again."

He'd left, and just as an extra precaution used a glamour charm to disguise himself from the natural eye. He certainly was taking no chances that Potter would find him again. Although he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if he'd just stayed. Let Potter try and save him like he did to everything else. Would it have worked?

Draco laughed, but it cracked in his throat. No one could save him, not even Potter. Yes, even the Chosen One couldn't possibly find a way to help him.

Perhaps thinking of Potter was somehow a kind of wandless magic, because no sooner had he thought that the Golden Boy wouldn't be able to find him anyway, someone smashed into him, knocking him over.

"I'm sorry!" the man said, pulling him to his feet and apologizing in a most Gryffindor manner.

"That's okay," he'd grunted, hoping the other wouldn't look too closely at him.

"Wait!" the man grabbed his arm by the crook of his elbow in a move that was somehow familiar, as if he'd seen it before. "I want to ask you something."

"What is it?" he snapped.

"I'm looking for someone. A man by the name of Draco Malfoy. Have you seen him?" the other looked at him with a hopeful Gryffindor expression in his eyes.

Draco was shocked. So the rumor really was true, and someone really was looking for him. "Why do you want to find him?"

"I wanted to help him," the man shrugged in an effortless way that again reminded him of someone familiar. That, and the words he said – so Gryffindor, almost as if he were –

"Potter!" he gasped in realization. Of course, Potter wouldn't parade about looking like himself, especially looking for him. Then he realized he'd practically outed himself, although he hoped there was a possibility that in his denseness, Potter wouldn't figure it out.

"Malfoy." Potter stood frozen there, staring at him with eyes that didn't match his usual memory of them.

"How'd you know?" he couldn't help asking.

Potter smiled, almost wistfully.

"You always had that particular way of saying my name, as if you were spitting out something distasteful. I'd recognize it anywhere," came the reply.

He didn't stick around. Potter was trouble – that's how he always had been and would be, Draco was sure of it. He turned and Apparated to his flat's doorstep as soon as he'd gotten the destination fixed in his mind. He couldn't have Potter catching him now, could he?

That would ruin everything.

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Yep! That was it, so review and tell me if I'm wasting my time with this. And in the very least, if it sucks, at least tell me why it sucks, that would be very helpful.


	6. Surprise Capture

Hello all. Since this is much preferable to doing my homework, I am writing this at 1:15 am. Hope it doesn't seem a bit abrupt from tiredness.

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for my own use.**

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Harry was getting frustrated. He'd had Draco within his grasp and then just let him slip away again. He knew the area that the ex-Death Eater seemed to have made his home territory thanks to a sighting by Ron a few days before.

"I dunno, mate, he seems to be about his normal self to me," his friend had reported dubiously, rubbing his head. "Same sneer and everything."

"He's in serious trouble," Harry had insisted, but he was sure that Ron didn't believe him.

He'd gone back to that area somewhere within Knockturn Alley to try and find out if he could get some more information. Things had gone far better and far worse than he could have imagined. First, there was the fact that he had actually located his quarry! Then, there was the fact he had escaped, and was now perfectly aware that Harry was looking for him. Whatever else happened, Harry was determined to catch Draco, and when Harry was in that state of mind, nothing really stood a chance.

The thing was, he kept getting distracted by his job at the Ministry. An Auror was always on call, their department having adopted the old Order of the Phoenix way of communicating – via Patronus. So the department could always get ahold of him wherever he was, and they seemed to take advantage of this fact.

He'd arrived back at the Ministry to find out that there was a particular smuggling ring that needed putting down. They're gotten a lead and needed him to head the investigation, which was bad news in light of the recent Malfoy development in his life. He was worried about what Malfoy could get up to in the meantime.

"Do you think he could be a part of it?" Ron had asked him through a mouthful of his sandwich at lunchtime. "I mean, that time I saw him was right in their territory."

It was true, both times he had been sighted he'd been right in the middle of the worst area of Knockturn Alley. They'd been trying to catch the smugglers at it for some time now, and Ron had been on patrol at the time.

"No way," Harry had defended Draco. "I'm sure he wouldn't."

Problem was, Harry didn't believe that line any more than Ron did.

"Harry! I've got great news!" his red-headed friend interrupted his thoughts, coming up to his desk and straddling one of the chairs in front of it casually.

"What is it, Ron?" he asked distractedly and immediately felt bad. He'd been neglecting his work of late, and also his friends. Poor Ron and Hermione were worried about him, and he wasn't even paying attention to them.

Ron grinned. "We managed to get someone on the inside of that smuggling ring! Finally one of our agents got through. Won't be long now till we've caught them at it!"

"That's fantastic!" Harry beamed in return, mustering some enthusiasm for his friend's benefit.

"We've been arranging a fake shipment of dark artifacts, so hopefully we'll be able to spring a trap on them and catch them in the act," Ron continued, waving a hand in the air.

"When's it being put into action?" Harry nearly cringed when he remembered that he was the one who was supposedly heading the smuggling ring investigation, and here Ron was making up for his slacking and without a word to anyone but him.

"Next Friday at midnight they'll be moving our fake load," the red-head said easily. "What they've really got is a load of chocolate frogs, just in case we slip up, but I really doubt we will. We've finally got 'em Harry!"

"Good job, Ron. That's brilliant," Harry managed a real smile, because he realized at that moment that Ron was well and truly pleased with himself for managing a whole investigation by himself.

"We just have to wait till then," his friend said confidently.

*******

Harry settled into a corner under the protection of a Disillusionment charm, catching a momentary flash of movement as the rest of his team settled in to wait for the smugglers to arrive. He saw who he assumed to be Ron concealing himself into another dark corner after setting up an Anti-Apparation ward and smiled. This would be over quickly. The plan was typically Gryffindor, but it wasn't as if the plan really needed the refined technique and strategy of a more Slytherin-like plan. And even if it did, he was sure Ron could handle it, as his friend was a brilliant strategist.

11:40 pm. His brief tempus charm revealed the length of time till the criminals showed up. Harry hoped they were early; his legs were already beginning to get stiff from remaining still for so long. He tried to shift his legs without betraying his position, then winced as a joint cracked somewhere in his back.

11:42. This was getting ridiculous. He had to stop checking the time or someone would see him. He twitched as a droplet from the roof above him landed on his exposed neck.

He tried not to fidget, and only just managed not to cast another tempus charm.

After what seemed like forever, but in fact was only about ten minutes, he finally heard what he'd been waiting for. The sounds of footsteps were echoing eerily through the streets, approaching the spot the Aurors lay in wait for them.

"Hurry up! They're expecting the full shipment in less than half an hour!"

Harry recognized that voice. Mundungus Fletcher, who else? He should have known, really, he _knew_ Dung was an illegal smuggler. Although why he had decided to become a member of a ring of Dark Artifacts smuggling was beyond him. The difference in sentences was really quite remarkable, an entire year separating a Dark Artifacts smuggler's sentence from that of a normal smuggler.

The rest of the figures spread out, all wearing long dark cloaks with their hoods concealing their faces in shadows. He saw one walking straight towards him, in fact, coming quite close to where he was standing. The way the person walked seemed familiar somehow, as if he'd seen it enough that it'd become recognizable. Almost as if the person was attempting to mask a lazy, casual saunter with a skulk and failing miserably. How often had he seen that stride before? Too often, he was sure.

He looked up to make sure that everything was in position and then raised his wand to release red sparks into the air, a signal to the rest to commence an attack. His orders to the others had been to capture, kill only if your life is in danger.

The sparks caused the rest of the smugglers to panic immediately and to start trying to Apparate away from the ambush. Once they found that they were unable, they attempted to flee back into the safe darkness of the alleyways. Only trouble was that those shadowy nooks were already occupied by Aurors. Once they'd reigned themselves in and realized their escape was cut off, they began shooting stun spells in every which direction, hitting their own people more often then Aurors. Harry's teammates were already making short work of them, easily rounding them all up and capturing them quite effectively.

Harry was left with only the figure nearest him.

The man put up a Shield charm first and _then_ tried to Apparate. He couldn't, and immediately cast first a Lumos then Finite Incantatum, revealing Harry's location to him and removing his Disillusionment charm. Harry cast a hasty Protego before the two began trying to hex each other in earnest.

"Stupefy! Impedimenta! Petrificus Totalus!" Harry bellowed, shooting off jinx after jink.

The hooded man deflected them all quite easily, almost as if he was experienced in dueling. He was in the midst of contemplating this when a long dark ribbon shot out of the end of his adversary's wand straight at his face. He soon saw that it was actually a viper as it wrapped itself around his neck and prepared to strike his face.

_Stop!_ Harry hissed angrily.

The snake desisted, looping itself benignly around his shoulders without so much as another hiss of protest.

"Potter…" the person before him faltered, recognizing the Parseltongue trait of the wizarding savior. The cloaked figure lowered their wand hesitantly, as if they didn't want to hurt him.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled, casting his spell quickly while the enemy's defense was down.

The wand arced into the air and the person was knocked flat on their back by the Disarming charm – his specialty.

The person raised themselves onto their elbows and raised his hands in surrender. As Harry advance upon them, wand raised in warning, the person shrugged their shoulders and tossed their head, effectively removing the concealing hood.

"Malfoy," his own shoulders slumped at the sight of the pale, pointy face and platinum blond hair.

"I told you this is where I belonged," the former Death Eater smirked in bitter triumph.

* * *

How was that?


	7. Handshake

Hey!!! Finally posted again. I know, I know, I should do it more often…. Oh well. So, here is another installment, hope you enjoy.

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for my own use.**

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_I told you this is where I belonged._

The words rang through Harry's mind as he numbly returned to the Auror Department of the Ministry of Magic. The other Aurors were happily chattering to each other, in high spirits now that the smuggling ring was on it's way to being broken. Even Ron was oblivious to the turmoil in Harry's head. He couldn't believe it.

No. That was a lie. The thing was that he _could_ believe it.

"Harry, are you okay?" Ron asked, nudging his shoulder, finally noticing his friend's state of mind.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he responded blankly.

The other Aurors all looked back and forth between Harry and Ron looking puzzled. Usually after a successful mission they all went out to the pub and had a drink to celebrate, but at the moment it looked as it Harry had just lost his best friend. Which was improbable, seeing as Ron was standing right next to him, regarding Harry in concern.

"You were right, Ron," he finally said in defeat. "I was hoping that you weren't. But you know, I think I knew all along."

Ron patted him on the shoulder, "I dunno what you were thinking, putting any hope in that rat, Malfoy. Harry. Just forget about him. He's in for a stay in Azkaban now."

Harry sighed, "But I was going to…"

He trailed off, not knowing how to express what he was trying to explain. He needed Malfoy! But of course they weren't going to understand. He…

_I was going to save him._

But if Malfoy went to Azkaban, then he wasn't going to be able to anymore. So, in order to save him, he first needed to stop him from going to Azkaban. That was a logical first step, right? He was so deep in thought, that they all arrived back at the Ministry before he'd even noticed. It was with a start he realized he was sitting at his desk with a cup of lukewarm coffee on his desk tapping a quill against it, and had been for quite some time.

This wasn't working out at all. He was a man of action, when he needed someone to help him think things through, he needed…

"Hermione?" he called through the Floo. "I need your help."

She had come over right away, of course, like a good friend always did. And Ron had been at home with her and accompanied her there. Harry smiled. He never knew what he'd done to deserve friends like them, but he must have done something right. Even Ron, who likely knew what this was all about already and disapproved of the whole thing had come over.

He wasted no words. As soon as she and Ron had settled into a couple of comfy chairs in front of the fire, cups of tea in hand, he let told her.

"I need you to represent Draco Malfoy."

He knew that if anyone could find a defense for the smuggler, it was Hermione. She had already managed to completely overturn the legal system, drawing up new legislation from werewolf rights to fair treatment of house elves. All he had to do was convince her that delivering Malfoy from Azkaban was a worthy cause.

"Harry…" she began, a tad disapprovingly.

"Hermione," he answered. "I just think that he deserves a second chance is all."

The witch sighed and rolled her eyes, "He already got that chance, remember? He already escaped prison once, even though he was a Death Eater. If he keeps doing this to himself, it's really his own fault."

"He was found innocent of all charges laid against him," Harry nodded. "And yet, you know, even though we gave him a second chance, society didn't. They hate the name Malfoy, and look where it's landed him."

"You hated Malfoy once, too, Harry," she reminded him.

"That was different," he argued. "I was just a kid then. We all were. If I, of all people, can forgive him, then why can't everyone else?"

"Not everybody's you, Harry," Ron told him.

"Besides, doesn't he have the whole Malfoy fortune?" Hermione jumped back in. "It's not as if he needs money!"

"He doesn't use it," Harry pulled at his already messy hair in frustration. "He blames himself for everything. Still, even though he was cleared. He told me he belonged in the darkness."

"Well, what if he does?" Ron asked. "Like you can stop him from doing what he wants!"

"I want to convince him otherwise," he rubbed his temple. "You didn't talk to him! He wasn't himself! He was so convinced that he was evil, and told me I didn't belong there with him. He wasn't the Draco Malfoy I remember."

"None of us are who we were before the war," Hermione reminded him.

"Yeah, but you know, you're still the loyal, brave girl who stands up for others, still so intelligent and determined to have justice. You're still Hermione. But Draco is different. He's not arrogant or convinced he's better than everyone else. He's not a proud Pureblood or any of that, no longer that cunning Slytherin we knew and hated. You might think that's a good thing, but he's not Draco Malfoy anymore, and I find that disturbing."

There was silence for a moment, but for the crackling of flames in the hearth.

"You want to save him, is that it, Harry?" Hermione shook her bushy head resignedly. Then, she looked up and smiled, "But then, you wouldn't be Harry if you didn't have your infuriating hero-complex now would you?"

And Harry smiled back, because he knew he had her convinced.

********

The holding cells in the Ministry had blank white walls and were permeated by a sterile smell that made one think of a dentist's office. The bland interior of each cell held a thin cot with a rough wool blanket folded across the end, a sink and a toilet. When Harry along with Ron and Hermione entered the cells, Draco Malfoy was lying on his back on his own generic cot with the blanket folded underneath his head. He was staring at the ceiling and didn't even turn his head when the door of his cell opened to admit his visitors.

Harry looked him over carefully. He was a tad on the thin side, but other than that seemed unharmed. He was dressed in a clean but plain prison uniform that looked ridiculous on him somehow. And his hair was splayed across the blanket as if he didn't care that what a mess it was.

"Malfoy?" he ventured hesitantly.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" the man didn't even glance at him. "And Weasley and Granger as well. Wonderful."

"We want to help you, Malfoy," he said carefully. "We were going to build a case…"

"Don't waste your time," he finally moved to wave a hand in their direction. "I am in no need of any such help that I'd receive from any of you."

"No one else will help you," Hermione spoke up.

Malfoy inclined his head in agreement, "Exactly. I do not plan to have a defense. They will send me to Azkaban regardless."

"Not if we can build you a good case," argued Hermione eagerly. "If you tell us how you ended up in the smuggling ring, I'm sure we can make a case for you."

"I'm a Death Eater, Granger!" he laughed, but it sounded oddly hollow, as if he didn't remember what a laugh was supposed to sound like. "The marks don't fade! No one will sympathize with me! I doubt they'll even listen to you."

"Oh, they'll listen alright," the girl snarled ardently. "If they don't, then I'll make sure they'll regret it for the rest of their careers."

Ron laughed, although this one was deep and real. "They're already regretting knowing you, Hermione, I doubt you can make them feel any worse!"

"Are you quite sure about that?" the girl smiled somewhat menacingly.

"Er… on the other hand," Ron squeaked out.

"I'm still a Death Eater," Malfoy repeated. "No one will want to let me off. They'll all want to believe the worst of me. Don't you?"

"No!" Harry yelled. "Stop acting like such a drama queen, Malfoy! We're not the same anymore! We want to help you, you great prat!"

"And if I don't want help?" Malfoy raised himself up on his elbows to observe his ex-rival with pale grey eyes.

"Too bad!" Harry and Hermione both growled simultaneously.

Ron grinned. "I'd just give up, Malfoy. Once they're determined to do something, nothing will sway them. Just give in."

"Why?" Malfoy asked in confusion. "Why do you want to help _me_?"

"Because you need it, and we're the only ones who can do it," Harry replied. "And anyway, you're not acting like Malfoy, and it's just not right."

"Such Gryffindors," sneered Malfoy eventually. "How typical."

"That's the spirit!" Harry grinned at him. "So, how bout it?"

Malfoy reached out a hand for him to shake, gazing at him steadily with those cold grey eyes. Solemnly, he took it and shook it.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "It only took you eight years, Potter!"

Harry suddenly remembered being presented with a similar delicate pale hand to shake at the age of eleven, and refusing it.

"What can I say?" he grinned. "I'm a bit slow sometimes."

"So you'll accept our help?" Hermione asked seriously.

Malfoy nodded, "Yes."

"Well, first things first," Harry said with a smile. "My name's Harry."

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Not too cheesy or anything, was it? Please say it was okay!!!!


	8. Trial

Hey everyone! Since school is doing okay, I've been able to post chapters pretty quickly, and hopefully the trend continues. But I've got midterms coming up, so if I don't update in a while, please don't be mad! That said, enjoy the next chapter.

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for my own use.**

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Draco couldn't call him Harry. He had always been 'Potter' for as long as he could remember, and calling him by his first name now after such a long time seemed strange to him somehow. For some reason, the thought didn't seem to occur to the three Gryffindors. Once he'd moved from the category labeled 'enemy' to the one labeled 'friend' they'd easily adjusted, as if all the complications of their relationships no longer mattered. Like they'd skipped past all those years of him calling Granger a Mudblood and Weasley a blood-traitor and making fun of Potter's scar and lack of parents. It made no sense to him whatsoever. But then, Slytherins tended to hold grudges, so perhaps it was just him who thought it was strange.

He'd tried it a few times while he was alone, just to see what would happen.

"Harry," he rolled the name around in his mouth as if sampling a sip of fine wine. But the word felt weird on his tongue, like it was in a foreign language and he hadn't adjusted to it yet. As if he had been expecting wine and instead got something entirely different, something unidentifiable.

"Hermione," he tried again. The word was almost lyrical, like it should be sung rather than said. He'd never noticed before, maybe because she was an enemy back then, but she really had a very pretty name. Noble-sounding even.

"Ron," he said finally, and gave a small half-smile. Sharp, to the point and as abrupt as a punch in the face. Yes, there would be no wine to this name; it was more like Firewhisky.

He didn't think he'd be able to call them by their given names, not as easily as they apparently now called him 'Draco'. He'd never admit it, but he kind of missed the way Potter – No, it was 'Harry' now, right? – hissed the name 'Malfoy', the word edging on the border of being Parseltongue.

Today was his trial. He and the other smugglers were all going to stand in front of the Wizengamot sometime that afternoon. The plan had changed slightly. Originally, it had been only Hermione who was going to represent him, but she was to be joined by Harry. The-Boy-Who-Lived and a Mudblood were going to represent him for his trial on charges of smuggling Dark artifacts. If anyone had told him such would be the case, he'd have laughed. A Malfoy, smuggling? Outrageous.

Outrageous indeed. Looking back on it, he realized just how much he'd shamed the family name. He couldn't even remember how he'd ended up as a smuggler in the first place, which was a part of his defense.

"Come on, you," a bored voice instructed him.

An Auror had appeared at his cell door to escort him to his trial, and he briefly wondered if Harry and Ron knew him. He stood as gracefully as he could and exited the cell gladly. Trying to stretch subtly as he walked, he tread in front of the Auror, knowing that the man behind him had a wand leveled at his back. He'd been treated fairly thus far, and that was the only reason he'd even consented to go with the man.

The Wizengamot was seated in the courtroom, chatting to themselves quietly in between trials, not even looking up as he entered the Chambers. Still, he was a tad daunted by the prospect of sitting in a single chair in front of all of them. He took his seat nonetheless and was relieved when the manacles remained immobile.

"The Wizengamot is now in session, now reviewing the charges against one Draco Malfoy. The charges are as follows: one charge of resisting arrest, one charge of assault of an Auror using a wand, one charge of smuggling illegal items into the country, one charge of smuggling dangerous items into the country and one count of smuggling Dark artifacts. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," he replied coolly, sure that he couldn't escape all of those charges fully.

"The Wizengamot takes note of the plea made by Draco Malfoy of 'not guilty.' The Wizengamot recognized Harry Potter and Hermione Granger as witnesses for the defense. Make your statements for the Wizengamot to consider."

Hermione stood behind him, completely businesslike, shuffling a stack of parchment in her hands. He saw the Wizengamot flinch as one, perhaps knowing from past experience that a debate with Hermione was the equivalent of being hit with a Bludger – repeatedly.

"I am Hermione Granger and I am on the stand in defense of Draco Malfoy, the accused. In reviewing this case, there are several points that must be considered. I will present them to you as such:

First of all, the night that Draco Malfoy agreed to the contract presented to him on May 4, 1999, he was in a state of incredible inebriation and therefore his judgment was impaired. This contract he signed was magically binding, and therefore could not be removed once he was again sober. This statement can be backed by Pensieve memories.

Second of all, the one Draco Malfoy, was once tried by this court as a Death Eater and acquitted of all charges. Therefore, this man was recognized publicly as being innocent, and yet, he was still prosecuted by society as if he were guilty. He was not given a fair chance to live in society unmolested. He could not get a job or do anything within the wizarding environment without being weighed down by biased opinions of him. Let me reiterate: Draco Malfoy was found not guilty, an innocent man and yet the public treated him as if he was a guilty Death Eater. Therefore, this drove him to become exactly as we see him now, a man with smuggling charges laid against him.

Third of all, in regards to his financial state, yes, it is true he has the entire Malfoy fortune at his disposal. But this is not a matter of money, although Draco did not use any of the money his family had in their vault. This relates to my second point, which is that Draco was driven by society into the darker parts which did not judge him in the same way that what we would like to call 'polite society' did.

Lastly, he as well still blames himself for circumstances that were beyond his control and up until this point believed that this place he has sunk to is truly where he belongs. I have known this man for eight years and know well of his activities during the struggle against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I do not think he belongs here any more than I do.

That is all."

Harry stepped up as well, to stand next to her. He knew that Hermione had written the argument, and it was just Harry presenting the facts because they related to him personally.

"I am Harry Potter, an Auror of the Ministry. I would like to give a statement in regards to the night of July 15, 1999, when the accused was brought into the custody of the Ministry.

First of all, Draco Malfoy's role in all of this appeared to be that of a lookout, and not one to be associated with the actual physical smuggling. The ambush caught him unawares, and so he, in his role did not fulfill it. So it was with all of the charges of smuggling laid against him, and therefore this charge is, at most, that of aiding and abetting and not actual smuggling.

Secondly, I will not lie. As soon as he realized there was an attack underway, he first cast a Shield Charm and then attempted Apparation. The Anti-apparation wards we set kept him contained. Also, we did cast several spells at one another, although I was not hurt by his attacks. Most of his effort was in his own defense, which is completely understandable when one has hexes being shot at one. During the course of the duel he recognized me for who I am and immediately ceased all escape attempts, allowing me to Disarm him. It was obvious throughout the duel that Draco did not want to do me any harm.

That is all."

The Wizengamot spoke quickly among themselves, discussing the case as it was presented by the two Gryffindors. The vial of memories was handed over for inspection and was soon deemed to be accurate. Draco shifted nervously in his chair. He really did _not_ want to go to Azkaban.

"The Wizengamot has taken these points into account and have altered the charges laid against Draco Malfoy. We have decided that he cannot be held fully responsible for his actions as a smuggler. We will allow him to go without any time in Azkaban so long as he agrees to have a Monitoring Charm placed upon his wand and also have an Auror keeping track of his movements for a period of six months. Otherwise, he will be sentenced to the same amount of time in Azkaban."

"I agree," Draco accepted immediately.

"I volunteer to keep track of him," Harry offered from behind him.

"Motion passed. The Wizengamot retires from the court."

Draco stood shakily to accept his wand back with the Monitoring spell in place. He breathed a sigh of relief. He knew he'd acted nonchalant about spending time in prison, but really the prospect terrified him. He turned towards Harry and Hermione to find that Ron had joined them.

"See? Everything worked out alright, didn't I tell you it would?" beamed Hermione, grabbing Ron by the elbow to steer them out of the Chamber.

Draco shook his head. He might have known, the girl was always right, after all. Harry came up beside him on his other side, humming cheerfully.

"So, Draco, what now?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," he answered heavily. "The place I was staying has no doubt tossed all my stuff out and rented it out to a different person. Not that I'd want to stay there anyway."

He shuddered. What had he been thinking staying in such a filthy place with all those social degenerates? Maybe it was because he'd thought he was one. He wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't one yet, but in the very least they'd reawakened his pride in being a Malfoy. He smiled to himself. They were going to regret it!

"Do you want to stay at my flat? I have an extra room, and it's not like I'm doing anything with it," Harry suddenly offered from his side.

He nearly tripped over his own feet in shock, something no Malfoy had ever done before. At least, he assumed. Harry Potter, all around Golden Boy was asking him, Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater if he wanted to stay at his flat???

"I…" he tried to say something, but his throat seemed to be stuck. He didn't know what to say, so he said the first thing that popped into his head.

"Harry, why do you keep doing things for me? I don't understand! You're just… so… Gryffindorish it's actually kind of scaring me! You're edging on Hufflepuff generosity here!" Draco burst out in confusion.

"You called me Harry!" the other man grinned at him. "That's a great start!"

"Yeah, a _great_ start," muttered Draco, deciding it best not to mention he'd been calling them all by their first names in his mind for a while now. "On my way to total and utter insanity. What will it be next? Me doing something out of the goodness of my heart??? The horror!"

"Yep! Next you know you'll be wearing red and gold!" Harry surprised him by quickly wrapping his own Gryffindor scarf around Draco's neck.

Glaring his displeasure, he quickly flicked his wand to turn it to the much more preferable silver and green.

"Just wait, Draco!" Harry made no attempt to take his scarf back. "We'll make a lion of you yet!"

"Not if I end up with a mane like yours," he pointed out dryly, eying the mess of tangles that Harry called a hairstyle.

Well, have you got an answer?" the black-haired man asked, suddenly serious again. "Come on, no trouble, really."

"Well…" Draco considered the possibilities of a new flat or going back to Malfoy Manor, and how nice, spacious and quiet the options offered him.

"Yes," he found himself saying, because no matter how nice privacy and silence was, it also meant he'd be alone. And being alone left him with only his thoughts, which tended to be dark.

"Great!" And once again, Harry was all smiles.

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So, I really hope that was okay. If anyone seemed OOC or anything like that, feel free to complain, the review button is right down there. Not to say that I don't like good reviews too… Anyway, till next time! ^.^ Oh, yes and thank you to **padsy** for the review, because you didn't sign in when you left your comment. I'm glad I made you laugh!


	9. Breakdown

Finally updated! Schoolwork is the worst, especially essays. Not to mention midterms. Anyway, enjoy the next installment. I hope I'll get the time to update again soon. Till then, ta mates!

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for my own use.**

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Draco slammed the door furiously, so hard that the panes in the window rattled and an ornament fell off one of the nearby window-ledges and shattered on the floor.

"Reparo," he snarled, and the pieces leapt back together as if startled.

He kicked off his trainers and stormed into the kitchen, pacing the linoleum tiled floor violently, back and forth. His movements were jerky and agitated, and he gripped his wand tightly, trying to reign in his anger. He wanted to break something or blast a hole in a wall. Anything to relieve the angry pressure building in him. But this was Harry's house, and if he put holes in anything here then he would be in trouble. Starting to breath hard, he leaned against a wall and put his head in his hands.

He had been turned down again. It had been nearly three weeks since the trial and he still didn't have a decent job, or _any_ job, for that matter. He had a feeling he could apply at a Muggle fast-food joint and still be turned away. Today's experience had been just like all the others. His prospective employer took one look at the name on the top of his resume and made some sort of excuse to get rid of him. Never mind that he was more than qualified for most of them, he was still an ex-Death Eater. Some things wouldn't change, and even though he had been acquitted of his charges once again, the public still believed him to be guilty. He almost hated them for their prejudice. What was he supposed to do, let his parents be tortured and murdered right in front of him? Not while he could do anything to prevent it, and unfortunately that left him only one alternative, and that was serving the Dark Lord. How dare they presume to judge him? They all thought themselves to be better than him somehow, and all because they had not been forced to make the choices he had.

This wasn't going to work. He was sure of it. No one was going to give him a chance to be good again, and there was no way to redeem himself. He slumped against the wall and slid slowly to the floor where he sat staring at his own hands. These hands had tortured people. They looked like normal hands to him, but there was a stain of dishonour on them that no amount of scrubbing could remove.

"Out, damn spot!" he quoted to himself quietly.

She had died, the speaker of those words. Was he going to die as well?

The sleeves of his robes slid down to his elbows, revealing the imperfections tracing his skin. There was the Dark Mark branded on his left forearm, the ugly skull with the snake protruding from the grisly jaw. It couldn't be removed, he knew his father had tried every possible way to get it away from him, failing every time. Then, all around that were the white traces of slash marks, decorating his flesh from wrist to elbow.

"Accio knife," he murmured quietly, and one quickly flew right to his hand.

He stared at his arm for a while, not really wanting to succumb to his depression and anger, but there was no one there to pull him up again. Harry and Ron were at the Auror Office in the Ministry and likely would be all day. That was just as well, he supposed, because he didn't want them to see him like this.

Finally, he dragged the sharpened blade over his skin, letting it sink into his flesh, and his flesh remembered. It sang with the pain, the sweet agony suffused his body as it danced along all his nerve endings. The pain in his skin, in his body filled him completely, and it allowed him to forget the pain that cried out in his heart.

Or at least he thought it did, except that this time it was different. Instead of chasing away the pain he felt deep in his chest, it joined it, curling around it and drawing it farther out, like they went together. He cried out, watching as his blood dripped crimson to the white floor, staining it and standing out blindingly red in his mind. The pain that he caused, was it anything like this? No wonder they hated him. He would hate him too.

The pain was coiling around him, tighter, and it seemed like there were jagged edges to it that dragged across him.

He made another slice unthinkingly, watching as his blood mingled together and dripped down to the floor.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to all the nameless people he had caused pain, so much more unbearable than this, making another slash.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, louder, as tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and then slid down his face in salty streams.

"I'm sorry!" he screamed. "I'm so sorry! Please forgive me!" And at that same moment, the last person he wanted to see appeared in the doorway to the kitchen abruptly.

"Draco, what are you yelling…" Harry Potter trailed off as wide evergreen eyes absorbed the red-filled scene before him.

"I'm sorry," Draco pleaded for him to understand. "I'm sorry, I didn't know! I had no idea it hurt that much! Forgive me!"

"Draco!" and Harry dropped to his knees beside him and pressed a hand over the wounds. "They aren't going to stop bleeding. We have to get you to St. Mungo's."

Before he could say a word in protest, the pair had Apparated to the lobby of the Wizarding Hospital. It was as crowded as it was normally, with all the sorts of strange ailments one should expect at a magical ward. Draco's knees buckled unexpectedly, and he supposed, as colourful dots danced in front of his eyes, that he had lost more blood than a person should do and stay healthy. Harry got a shoulder under his arm and dragged him to the front desk. Harry and the witch at the desk were exchanging words, and he saw the woman give him a dubious look. Then, she stood and looked over the desk and noticed the trail of blood and pooling scarlet liquid under his feet.

"He'll die of blood loss if he is not helped soon," he heard from somewhere, and he wasn't sure if it was Harry or the woman who said it.

"Just let me die then," he said, finally finding the witch's eyes again. "I'm sorry," he continued, waving the blood-soaked arm. "It's my fault. All my fault. I'm sorry. I never realized… I never knew. I'm sorry!" he said to the room at large, not sure who was listening. "Forgive me, please. I didn't know. I'm sorry."

Then the world faded out, the colours running together and finally growing dark.

The world was made of sunlight. It was hitting him in the face, he could feel the warmth on his skin. Was he dead? Not possible, he was sure he belonged in Hell, if there was one. He moved his arm, and then looked down at it. The scars were still there, with several more, newer ones overtop the old. Then, his eyes widened.

Then, Harry appeared again, looking at him nervously, and then apprehensively crossed the room to sit at his side.

"Are you alright, Draco?" he heard the other man ask.

"It's gone," Draco breathed in awe.

"What?" Harry asked in apparent confusion.

"It's gone!" he repeated, suddenly breaking into a smile. "See, look! What do you see?"

Harry frowned at the forearm that had been shoved in his direction. "Scars," he replied, looking a bit sad. "Lots of them."

"And?" Draco asked impatiently.

Harry looked harder, squinting. "Nothing. There's nothing else there."

"Exactly!" Draco started laughing. "Nothing! After all the times it's haunted me, marked me, and it's gone!"

"The Dark Mark!" Harry finally clued in as to what Draco was talking about. "It's faded!"

"I don't know why," Draco couldn't stop grinning, no doubt foolishly, at his arm. "But it's gone, it really has disappeared!"

Harry thought about it hard. "Remorse… it's just like Hermione said! Remorse! You felt remorse, and the Mark disappeared! I didn't even notice, because I was a bit preoccupied with all the blood."

"Yeah," Draco said, suddenly quiet as he remembered what poor Harry had walked in on.

"Come on, let's go home," Harry stood up. "We just had to wait for you to wake up, you've had a Blood Replenishing potion already. We've been instructed to tell you to drink lots of water when you get home."

"Okay," Draco replied quietly, and stood to accept Harry's outstretched hand.

That night, Ron and Hermione came by to see them. He proudly displayed his Mark-free arm, and Hermione was thrilled at being proven right for about the millionth time.

"Mate, that's a lot of scars," Ron noted, looking at the lattice-work of white slashed adorning the Malfoy's pale flesh.

"Everyone has scars," Draco replied with a shrug. "It's just that mine are visible. Maybe they'll fade too, in time."

"Well, maybe you can get a job now that the Mark's faded. They can't deny that you've repented now!" Hermione added happily.

Draco looked up at the three faces smiling at him, and sighing deeply said, "I still don't understand how you three would even bother investing any hope in me. I am not the sort of person you admire, you hated me!"

"We like you, Draco. And we forgave you your past transgressions already," Harry explained. "Let the past lie, the future is something we should be paying more attention to."

And then, the fireplace roared to life.

"Potter!" Kingsley Shacklebolt yelled. "Weasley! We need you two in the office immediately! There's an emergency that needs every Auror's attention! I'll brief everyone in fifteen minutes!"

As silence descended on them, Harry shook his head.

"We'll be back," he promised as he climbed quickly to his feet, followed closely by Ron. "Auror Headquarters!"

The two Aurors disappeared, leaving Draco and Hermione at home alone.

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That was it! Please review!


	10. Epidemic

So sorry for neglecting to update for such a very long time! I have no excuses, and I can only beg for forgiveness. This next chapter has some very disturbing facts in it near the end, just as a warning! Please do not proceed to read if you are afraid of deadly diseases.

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for my own use.**

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**Hermione and Draco stayed up late, waiting for the two to return from their newest mission, drinking tea and staring into the fire silently. Emergencies at the Auror's office were never good news, and were often extremely dangerous. But of course, the two Aurors would be right in the middle of whatever it was, in spite of any danger, because that is just how they were. Hermione was always worrying about her husband, and it was obvious to Draco that she was especially so tonight. He did not want to bother her right now when she was in such a state of anxiety, not when she had taken care to help him. But he didn't know what to say to her – he'd never been good at comforting people.

"So Draco," it was Hermione who eventually broke the silence.

"Yes," he replied quietly, unsure of what to say now that Harry was not here to act as a buffer zone between him and the Muggleborn witch.

"What are you going to do now?" she asked.

"Oh," he nervously flicked his gaze to her eyes before glancing away. "I'm not entirely certain of my plan of action right now."

He didn't want to say anything about it to her, really. Once, he had been certain that he would be assured a high position in the Ministry as his father had been, entirely confident that nothing would stand in his way. Malfoys received whatever they wanted, after all. Now, it was Hermione, the muggleborn girl with no social standing who was suddenly in a position of power and Draco who was in disgrace. He had never thought it conceivable that his pure blood and family name would ever be thought below that of her or Weasley. But no, the two of them were war-heroes now, and no one would say anything against those who had fought against Voldemort. He didn't want to tell her he was hoping to even get a small job as just about anything.

"Have you thought of working for the Ministry?" Hermione persisted.

Draco tried to keep himself from sighing, "No, they are sure to not hire me. Ex-Death Eaters are not really welcome there."

"That is utter bollocks!" the witch snapped. "And besides, you've been cleared by the Wizengamot a second time now."

"Doesn't matter," Draco muttered. "I'm used to it by now. I'm just glad to be free of the Dark Lord's Mark now."

"Why do you call him the Dark Lord?" she asked curiously. "If you hated him so much, then why call him as if he still ruled you?"

Draco shrugged fluidly, "Habit, I suppose. Remembered fear and pain. He liked it you know, hurting his own followers. It didn't matter to him who it was, he tortured everyone from muggle-borns to pure-bloods and enjoyed it all. For my failures, he cast the Cruciatus Curse on me in front of my own mother. The name, it still makes a shudder run down my spine and makes ice pool in my stomach."

"Fear of a name…" started Hermione in her lecture-mode voice.

"Yes, I do know that," Draco sighed and ran an agitated hand through his silver-blond locks. "But I am still afraid. I don't understand how Harry can say it without remembering."

"Just face the fear, and eventually it will dissipate," the girl next to him insisted.

"I have never been brave," Draco smiled slightly sadly at her. "You know that. I've always been exactly what your House always said, a slimy, cowardly snake."

"Not all Slytherins are cowards!" Hermione glared at him.

"Oh, really?" Draco sneered reflexively. "And who do you know in Slytherin that was ever as brave as Harry?"

Hermione smiled gently and said very clearly, "Severus Snape."

"What?!" Draco bit out incredulously. "The Head of Slytherin? The one person who was as Slytherin as one could get?"

"Yes," Hermione was grinning at him, and he realized that his face was twisted into something that was half a sneer and half shock and that no doubt was quite hilarious.

"Explain," he demanded, smoothing out his face as quickly as possible.

"He was a spy for the Order of the Phoenix," she told him matter-of-factly. "Risked his life and more to relay our side information and did it in a way that didn't implicate his betrayal. No one even suspected. What's more, he did so in the name of love."

"What?" Draco had a feeling his face had reverted to how it had been before.

"Let me tell you a story."

Draco was in shock.

The entire story had turned his world upside-down. He didn't understand. There was no such thing as a brave Slytherin. Or a cowardly Gryffindor. And yet, Hermione had told him that his own Head of House had died a hero, something more befitting his opposing House and that the Gryffindor Peter Pettigrew had betrayed his best friends and joined the Death Eaters. He'd never have known that the sniveling rat Wormtail had once been a Gryffindor. Nothing made sense anymore. Because if it was possible for Snape to be brave, then it was also possible that _he_ could be…

His mind shied away from the thought. It was scary! He tried to convince himself that there was no way Hermione was telling him the truth, that later she would laugh at him for believing her impossible story. But she was a Gryffindor, and it wasn't in them to lie like that, was it? Or… he was too confused to think about it. But it was there still, in his mind. A tiny seed had been buried deep and covered over carefully. With enough care and nurturing, it could grow into something wonderful.

Draco had somehow, in spite of all the new thoughts bouncing around inside his head, managed to fall asleep before Harry and Ron returned. He was curled up on the couch in a lithe, cat-like lump underneath a blanket when the fireplace roared to life, depositing the two Aurors safely onto the carpeted floor. Harry wiped the soot from his glasses and grinned slightly at the sight that met his eyes. He nudged Ron and nodded towards the couch where Draco and Hermione were both fast asleep, Hermione with her head on Draco's shoulder and his propped against her head of bushy hair. The pair of them were so peaceful lying there, as if it were natural for them to be supporting each other even in sleep. The stress that usually lined their eyes was smoothed out, and it was if they had no cares in the world.

"How did this happen, Harry?" Ron asked, gesturing at them. "When did Draco become so trusted that Hermione let her guard down around him?"

"And since when did Draco trust Hermione enough to let down his?" Harry smiled down quietly at them. "I don't know, Ron. Does it matter?"

"Not really," Ron decided with a shake of his head. "Let's get them to bed then."

Harry chuckled softly and gently lifted Draco off the couch as Ron did the same to Hermione. He had never realized how light the blond man was, not until he easily hoisted him into his arms.

"Wuzz goin' on…?" groaned a voice, and he saw that Draco was waking up.

"Go back to sleep, Draco," he said very quietly into the blond's ear.

"Mmhm," came the muffled reply as he buried his face in Harry's shoulder.

"You are a very strange man, Draco Malfoy," he smiled.

This time, no response was forthcoming.

Draco woke up to sunlight streaming through the window and hitting him in the eyes. He blinked a few times to try and clear his vision, but it all he could see were points of light in the air in front of him, dust motes whirling in the light. At this point he remembered that he had, at the time he last recalled, been on the couch. There was no recollection of climbing the stairs or of getting into bed, yet here he as wrapped up snuggly in the covers. How had he ended up here?

A memory invaded suddenly, one of warmth and of being held gently as if he were something precious. He had felt safe and secure at that moment, like nothing in the world could harm him. And he realized that it was Harry who had carried him up to bed last night and suddenly felt strangely vulnerable despite the fact he knew that Harry would never hurt him.

"Draco, you awake yet?" that familiar voice called up to him, startling him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, be down in a moment," he replied, shaking his head to clear it. It was a strange thing, knowing someone cared for you just because they could.

"So, what happened last night?" Hermione asked when she and Ron came over for tea later that afternoon.

Harry and Ron both became very silent as soon as she spoke, teacups frozen halfway to their mouths. They exchanged a glance with eachother, somehow conveying what would take other people an entire conversation with one shared look. Both nodded and turned back to her.

"We have a real emergency on our hands here, Hermione. It's not a false alarm of any sort; this could cause mass panic," Harry warned immediately.

"It's definitely Dark magic, and it is very dangerous," Ron added. "I have to say that I really do not want to try and involve you in this. In fact, I really wish you would stay at home or here for the next while."

"I can take care of myself, Ronald," Hermione glared at her partner as if daring him to contradict her.

"That's not it," Ron insisted seriously. "The thing we have is an epidemic that started in a small community near London. It spreads extremely quickly and we're not sure yet how it's doing so."

"He's right, Hermione," Harry added. "And that's not the only thing, this is no ordinary disease either. It's a killer, with a 90% mortality rate."

"That high?" whispered Draco, speaking up for the first time that afternoon. "How is that even possible?"

"We don't know much about it," admitted Ron. "Actually, we were kind of hoping that you could help us research this disease Hermione. The Auror Department has not made that much headway. We've never seen anything like this in all wizarding history."

Draco watched the trio immediately settle into what he assumed was an old pattern, leftover from the war. He was a little disappointed that they didn't want his input, but at the same time he thought that he should have expected as much. He was a little left out by it all, but it was true that he knew very little about pathogens of any sort. This one sounded deadly, and he was ever so glad that he had no excuse to venture out into the world. He listened to the three of them review the known cases of the plague that currently beset the wizarding world.

"Kills 90% of its victims a range of about 5 to 10 days. Onset of symptoms may include high fever, head aches, pain in joints, muscles and the abdomen, sore throat, severe weakness or exhaustion, dizziness and nausea…" Hermione was reading aloud.

"Sounds like the flu," Harry mused.

"Then proceeds to internal bleeding, as well as a skin rash, distension, hypotension and hypovolemia. Basically, what I'm saying is that the victims appear to start bleeding from the inside and eventually their organs liquefy. They begin to bleed from every body oriface. Also here it says that patients appear to suffer a loss of personality and awareness of what is going on around them. In the end the victim appears to go into a seizure in which they "bleed out". Death either results from shock due to blood loss or organ failure," Hermione continued pretending not to hear him.

"Okay, not the flu," Harry mumbled, looking vaguely sick.

"What are we going to do about this, mate? So far there's been no word on any sort of cure for this from the Department. We're trying to isolate it, but we aren't sure how it's spread or who is even infected. We had to quarantine the entire area, and it was lucky that Harry and I were late getting there, because half the Auror Department is stuck inside that area due to the fact they may have become infected," Ron seemed pale.

"We'll get through this, don't worry," Hermione assured them.

Draco wasn't so sure about this, but for all their sakes, he hoped she was right.

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So, can anyone guess which disease I am basing this 'Dark' plague thing on? It is a real disease, although it is obviously not magical in nature. And is scares the crap out of me, so I'm unsure of why I decided to write about it… silly me.


	11. A Decision

Finally, I've updated this! It's been a month or two… oops. I definitely need to work on this more. It's getting a bit more serious now, as if it wasn't serious before now! Oh well. I'm hoping that Draco doesn't seem too OOC, but I fear he is.

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for my own use.**

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Harry and Ron had their heads bent over the newest case trying to find a new lead, but so far nothing had caught their attention.

"Why can no one identify this curse?" Harry shook his head in frustration. "I can't say I've ever seen anything like this before, and not even Hermione knows anything!"

Technically, they were not supposed to tell Hermione anything about it at all, but in this case it was important to get all the help they could get. She was researching everything she could think of, but she had not found anything yet.

"Well, Harry, our Dark Arts specialist was inside the quarantine area investigating the curse and was trapped inside the contaminated zone," Ron replied heavily.

"Have we heard anything from them yet?" Harry murmured, bending over the file.

"He was diagnosed with whatever the curse is a week ago and died within five days of the onset of symptoms," Ron sighed. "No other information has left the quarantine area besides what we already have."

"Shit," Harry slumped. "Do we know anyone who knows anything about the Dark Arts that we might not? Anyone?"

At that moment, Draco stepped into the library hesitantly and offered them a slight smile.

"I brought you coffee," he said quietly, holding up two chipped mugs full of steaming hot liquid.

"Draco!" they both half-leapt from their seats in excitement.

"Um… yes?" the blonde man was slightly startled.

"Come here," Harry ordered. "I want you to look at this and see if you recognize it. Please, we're desperate here!"

It might not have been a good idea to admit to Draco Malfoy that one was desperate, but Draco simply walked over slowly balancing the mugs in his hands and set them down on the table before sitting down himself. He pursed his lip as he looked over the details of the curse. He sighed after a moment and looked over at the two Aurors.

"I would have to be able to examine the curse closer than this to be able to determine anything more," he finally said. "There is not enough information here for that, but I do know of several books in the Malfoy library that may be of some use."

"It's too dangerous to be able to do that," Harry said worriedly. "We don't know how it's being transmitted, and if we sent anyone in, they would stand a good chance of contracting it. Only 10% of people survive it."

"I know that," Draco said tonelessly. "Well, in the very least I can get ahold of those books."

He didn't tell them that if he went back there he would have to face his mother who would most certainly be angry with him. He had been avoiding her for months, and she would demand an explanation. This would be painful on his part, but if he didn't, the consequences could be dire for the wizarding world.

As he thought of this, he asked, "Have any Muggles been affected?"

The two Aurors shook their heads and Ron said, "That's one blessing, I suppose."

"I'll go then," Draco nodded before leaving the room, steeling himself for confrontation.

The Manor was silent as he entered the front entrance hall, and his quiet footsteps echoed in the empty room. The portraits were eerily immobile, as if they were all in stasis and the light coming in through the windows was dim. He had no idea where his mother might be in the house, but he was hoping she wasn't there. In fact, he hoped she was somewhere far away, like France, because then he wouldn't have to worry she would be in danger from the strange curse. Just as he was about to step into the main corridor, he turned the corner to find her waiting there expectantly, as if she had known all along he was going to be there.

"Mother?" he whispered, and his voice carried on the still air.

"Draco," she smiled in welcome, eyes bright. "I haven't seen you in a long while. I am glad to see you are well."

"I am fine, mother…" he hesitated, wondering when the outburst would come. "I am sorry that I did not visit you more often. I wish I could have, but at the time I deemed it impossible."

"There were things you needed to learn, and you have, but now you have returned to me, so I must assume that all has been put to right," she took his arm as he walked deeper into Malfoy Manor.

"No, all is not right," Draco sighed as he turned his attention back to the main problem at hand. "There is a terrible curse on the loose, and I'm sure that you will be safe here. But I am one of the only people who may help with this curse to put an end to it. This will put me in grave danger and I must ask your forgiveness in imperiling my life."

"Go on, and do as you must to succeed in this endeavor," his mother released him as they reached the library doors.

"If… if I die…" Draco's hand stopped as it wrapped around the door handle, uncertain of how to continue this train of thought.

"Then I will know that my son's life was spent doing something worthwhile," she smiled. "Be safe Draco."

"You as well mother," he replied sincerely. "Please, go and stay at our villa in France, or anywhere else, just so long as it isn't here. I don't want anything to happen to you and it would put my mind at ease to know you are safe."

"I will consider it," she nodded and departed as Draco entered the vast room with huge, ornate shelves stacked full of texts detailing Dark magic.

Draco returned to the Black Residence levitating a trail of books along behind him. He found the Gryffindor trio bent over the books, and Hermione was gesturing in obvious excitement at one of them as Harry and Ron looked on with grim looks on their faces.

"Oh, Draco," Hermione looked up as he entered. "Ah, you have some books, excellent. I have discovered a disease that matches the plague's description very closely, and all we need is a sample to verify it. We were looking in all the wrong places! This is a not-very-common Muggle virus originating in central Africa. The problem is, that if this is what I think it is, it's spreading far too quickly and efficiently. I think that it's been crossed with a Dark curse and that it is a combination of the two."

"So, we'll need to do more research," Draco groaned.

"Yes, and this might be dangerous, because there is no way to study it unless we have someone inside the quarantined area. There is the real chance that anyone who enters will be infected."

"What is the disease called?" Draco asked.

"Ebola."

The four of them had been going through the stack of books Draco had brought back with him, and Hermione was in a frenzy of excitement. It might have been because it would help with the case, but Draco thought it was likely that she was just happy to have new reading material. So far, there had been several curses that had the potential to be the curse they were searching for, but all the descriptions of the Ebola curse, as they were calling it, were far to general to match it up. Draco sighed in frustration as he flipped through another heavy tome, noting down anything that looked even slightly like it could be the right one.

"This is going to be impossible, Hermione," Ron's shoulders drooped. "It's hopeless, there are just too many ways it could be spreading to narrow it down to one curse. Even if we tried every single one, it would be too late to stop it."

"We can't give up, Ronald!" she snapped in return. "There has to be a way!"

Harry remained silent. He knew there was a way to do it, but he didn't want to mention it yet. Especially since he was sure that any plan they made would put Draco in danger. If anyone was in any peril, he wanted it to be himself.

Unfortunately, he and Draco seemed to disagree on this point, because the ex-Slytherin spoke up, "We need to send someone into the quarantine zone. You're avoiding saying so because you know that if you do, you'll put someone else in danger. It can't be avoided. You know this! And there are only two people here who could be of any use in this, and that's Hermione and me. We aren't Aurors, but we are the only people who know anything about how the curse works. In the very least, I should go."

"You can't! You could become infected!" Harry shot to his feet, stomach twisting at the idea of sending another person into danger when he himself would stay behind.

Draco smiled, a bit sadly. "You know I have to go, Harry. Just as you know that you must stay."

"I'm going in with him!" Hermione announced.

"Hermione!" Ron gasped at his fiancée. "No! There has to be someone else!"

"There isn't," Hermione answered. "I can't let Draco go in alone. Anyway, it's about time that you were the ones staying behind for once!"

"Who even said we would let you go?" Harry shot back at them. "There are Aurors guarding the entrances, and there's an anti-apparation ward around the entire area. You can't get in unless we allow it."

"You know this is the only solution. Even if we were to die, it would save countless other lives," Hermione told the angry pair gently.

"Then we have to go with you!" Ron argued forcefully.

"No, Ron," Draco shook his head adamantly. "You and Harry need to stay here. It's bad enough that Hermione has to go. You two represent the hope of the wizarding world, and if you were to die from this there would be mass public panic. And you know no one cares what happens to me, so it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me!" Harry sounded very upset. "It matters to me what happens to you!"

"Really?" Draco's eyes lit up so they seemed the colour of light shining through storm clouds. "You do? That makes me… happy…."

He trailed off in confusion because he was getting the strangest feeling welling up in the pit of his stomach. He almost felt like he wanted to make Harry… proud… of him. He wanted Harry to be proud to be his friend, and also to share in whatever struggles came his way. He'd never had that feeling before. He'd tried to make his father proud and failed every time, but this time, he knew he could succeed.

"I… he continued carefully. "I know that I have to go, and so do you. It will put me in danger, but I accept that risk. So… please, let me go. This is something that I must do."

"I'll only let you go if you promise to come back," Harry replied. "You and Hermione both."

Draco knew that at that point, Harry had given in and given his consent and that if Harry did, Ron would too.

"I promise," he said, knowing even as he did that he did not control the outcome of that pledge and that it may break at any moment.

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Eek! I'm separating everyone! I am mean, yes. And don't worry, it gets worse! Next up is Hermione and Draco in the quarantine zone and Harry and Ron worrying insistently. Also, if anyone is grossed out by diseases, this might not be the fic for you! Ebola is a really nasty one for sure. Read _In the Hot Zone_ if you want a good description. Scary thing is that it's non-fiction!


	12. Quarantine Zone

Yay, finally an update! I'm not sure what exactly to do with Draco and Harry. They seem to want to have awkward feelings, so we'll see.

**Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and its characters. I'm only borrowing them for my own use.**

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The quarantine zone had a huge anti-apparation ward set up around it, as well as a team of Aurors surrounding it to prevent anyone from emerging. As the group of four drew closer, the guards immediately turned in their direction, raising their wands as they did.

"It's just me and Ron," Harry called to them, but none of the guards relaxed.

"We can't allow you to cross the wards," one, Harry recognized him as being called Stewart, said warily. "We know you, Harry, and we've been instructed not to let you pass. Or Weasley."

Harry was taken aback by this, but raised his hands to assure them, "I'm not crossing the wards. And neither is Ron."

"Then what are you doing over here?" Stewart asked Harry, carefully positioning himself in-between Harry and the wards.

Hermione stepped up and announced in her strict, no-nonsense voice, "I'm going through them. As well as Malfoy here. We need to find out what's going on in there before it's too late to do anything about it."

All the Aurors standing there immediately stiffened and drew their wands at the mention of the name 'Malfoy' and all turned to look at the fourth figure, who, at the attention, drew back his hood to reveal his pointy, pale face and platinum hair.

"Malfoy!" Cunningham, one of the female Aurors hissed angrily. She turned to Harry and demanded, "What is _he_ doing here!?"

"He is going to help solve this case!" Hermione interrupted with a frown.

"He's a Death Eater!" she pointed her wand at Draco, who simply gave her a disdainful look without drawing his wand. "And you have no authority here, Granger."

"Yes, Potter, this was classified information, you can't go around telling anyone you happen to see everything about this case!" snapped Stewart, while the other Aurors shifted uncomfortably on either side.

Harry glared around at them before snapping, "Hermione is the best researcher in the Ministry and has brilliant deductive capabilities. Without her help, I would have died in the war against Voldemort and without her, this plague will spread and destroy our world! As for Malfoy, he is the best expert on the Dark Arts that I could find on such short notice!"

"We already _have_ a Dark Arts expert on the case!" Cunningham insisted, all the while glaring at Draco as if she could burn a hole through his head by sheer will power.

"He's _dead_," Ron finally added. "His insides melted and then he bled them out through his arse. Do you want that to happen to everyone else? We don't even know if we have it contained in this zone!"

"That doesn't change the fact that he's a Death Eater!" Cunningham pointed a dramatically quivering finger at Draco's face.

Draco's response was to pull up the sleeve of his robes revealing his left forearm to be clear of the Dark Mark, although the thin white scars left from his self-inflicted wounds still stood out on his pale skin.

"Finite incantatem!" Stewart waved his wand over the bare forearm, and then stared stupidly when nothing happened.

He tried again twice more, then began on other revealing spells that all turned up negative. When ten minutes of spellwork passed and Draco's arm was still bare of the incriminating skull and snake tattoo he threw down his wand angrily and stomped off.

"Where is it?" Cunningham and the other Aurors were examining the arm. "I know it was here, because I saw it! I was there when he was brought in!"

"It's faded," Draco finally whispered. "I am a slave of Voldemort no longer and his beliefs are not mine."

The Aurors quickly whispered among themselves and Harry caught a snatch of 'That's never happened before!' when Hermione raised her hands.

"This argument is irrelevant," she said sharply. "We need to move quickly! We don't know how this plague is spread and we need to find out. You need to permit us entry, unless you want to go in there and find answers."

Her proclamation was met with silence.

She continued sternly, "Tell us how you were communicating with Finch. Obviously, since the Auror department outside the zone are not decimated, however you were doing this doesn't spread the infection."

One of the Aurors in the back stepped forward and explained, "We were using a muggle cell phone. We knew that the Muggles weren't getting it, so obviously this disease cannot be compatible with their technology."

"That changes nothing, we cannot allow you to go through the wards," Stewart voiced. "You have no authorization by the Ministry. And anyway, if anyone goes through, they can't send us any magical communication. There's a Null Ward on layered on top of the other wards so magic can't go through it."

"Is that man's cell phone still in there?" Draco asked and was faced with the Auror's wands once again.

"Stop that and answer his question," Harry snapped angrily.

"It is, it should be in the room he was staying in," confirmed one of the less hostile Aurors.

"I have a cell phone," Hermione interrupted. "We don't need the Auror equipment, we have all our own equipment already packed."

"You're still not allowed through!" insisted Stewart.

That's when Draco finally sighed, "Oh bloody hell" in exasperation and with a swirl and a crack disapparated, appearing behind the Aurors and stepping through the wards of the contaminated zone.

"Draco!" Hermione scolded. "That isn't the way to go about things."

The blond shrugged, unrepentant. "It's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. They weren't going to let us save them, so we'll just have to do it in spite of all their protests. Really. I haven't heard of anything more ridiculous than that. The Ministry doesn't allow us to save the world? Damn ministry protocol…"

"Spare us the rant, Draco," Hermione sighed. "Well, as long as he's in there, you might as well let me through."

"But…" protested Stewart, sputtering.

"Or you could let him go wandering around in there alone," she pointed out.

"Fine!" snarled the angry Auror. "But the Minister is hearing about this!"

With that, Hermione confidently strode through the wards and into the contaminated zone, leaving behind her fiancé and her best friend and joining the ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked over at Ron and saw the fierce worry and protectiveness in his friends eyes, as well as a deep pain that he had to stay behind while his love went into danger without him. It was a tad strange, but he himself could feel that same pain tearing at the pit of his stomach as he watched that platinum blond head drew farther and farther away from him. Was this the last time he would see Draco and Hermione? It could be, and they had said their goodbyes. But somehow, Harry felt as if there was something he'd forgotten to tell his ex-rival. With an ache sitting somewhere in his chest, he turned to Ron and led his friend away from the barrier, away from Draco and Hermione.

It wasn't until they were at his flat that Harry realized what that ache was.

His heart.

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Oh no! What to do? There is a certain type of bravery, letting someone you care about be in danger when it's necessary. Poor Harry and Ron!


	13. Drowning

Wow, I haven't updated this for like months! So sorry about that! . It's almost done now, and I'm kind of glad. I wasn't that impressed with this story, to be honest. But I'm determined to at least finish the thing once I've started it, so here is the next chapter. This probably won't be longer than two more chapters.

So, anyone who has actually managed to get to this chapter after all the other ones, thanks for continuing to read.

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and I am simply borrowing her characters for my own use.**

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Draco and Hermione carefully made their way towards the centre of the quarantine zone. There was a small all-wizard community there that the trapped Aurors had made their main base. The ministry had lost contact with them, but the village was their last known location, so that is where Hermione decided they would go.

Apart from the village, the place was quite isolated, and there was no one else in sight. It made Draco slightly paranoid, even though he knew what had happened here. It was still a mystery as to what the curse was, but its effects were well known. Draco was scared and he wasn't too proud to admit it… to himself. He didn't want to get this Dark disease and he didn't want to die the horrible death that most of those who contracted it seemed to. Mostly, he wanted to find out what the curse was and stop it.

"We're almost there, Draco," Hermione announced.

And then, the air rippled and a man stood in front of them in blood-stained and ripped Auror robes, startling a squeak from Hermione.

"Malfoy!" the man pointed his wand at Draco's throat.

"Yes…?" Draco slowly raised his hands to show that he wasn't armed.

"Death Eater!" he accused.

"Not this again!" growled Draco, glaring at the man. "For the last time, I'm not a Death Eater!"

He reached down to pull back his sleeve in exasperation, but the man shot off a Stinging Hex at him that caused a red welt to rise on his hand.

"Stop it!" Hermione snapped.

She lectured the befuddled man for at least five minutes before the man asked her, "Do I know you?"

"Hermione Granger," she answered promptly.

"Oh," the man blinked a few times before saying, "Come with me."

The pair did just that, and soon the man led them up to a house with a yellowed lawn and wilting flowers. The house was obviously being neglected in favour of other things. The screenless screen door screeched as it swung open and the Auror stepped up.

"Knock knock!" he yelled through the door.

"Who's there?" came the response from the other side.

"Orange," the Auror said in a monotone voice.

"Orange who?" the voice insisted.

"Orange you going to let me in?" the man asked the door.

Finally it swung open and Hermione asked the person on the other side, "Really, a knock-knock joke?"

"Well, what wizard would ever use a knock-knock joke as a password?" the person inside ushered them in. "And who's this Sam?"

Sam, the Auror who had found them said, "Hermione Granger and a Malfoy."

Draco drew himself up somewhat haughtily, "I am Draco Malfoy. And myself and Granger here are trying to find out what happened in here and find a solution to the problem."

"What, don't we get any back-up?" asked the woman who ushered them through the door. "Not to sound ungrateful or anything. I'm Darlene Phillips."

They shook hands, and Hermione told her, "We're the best you're going to get. Draco is your replacement Dark Arts expert and I'm his assistant researcher."

"Oh, thank God, smart-types," Darlene sighed. "Me and Sam here have been trying to keep the people here quarantined, but otherwise there's nothing we've been able to do. Initially we were meant to be back-up for the other Dark Arts expert, but he died and we have no idea why. His notes are over there, but his cell phone has run out of batteries."

"That's fine, we have our own," Hermione opened the file and began flipping through it. "Anything else been happening? You know, just so we know the situation, since we have no Auror training."

Sam shrugged, "Well, sometimes the one of the locals tries to escape the quarantine and we have to stop them. But, occasionally they get violent. Just a couple days ago I got hit with a nasty Stunner and Darlene here had to revive me."

Draco, who had been going through another file suddenly stilled and drew in a sharp breath. He asked in a strange, repressed voice, "Did you read this file?"

"Nope, we didn't read any of it. Most of it has too many complex and specialized spells in it for us to understand. We tried for a couple of pages, but we gave up after that."

Draco drew in another shaky breath and then said, "Well, a few pages in, he starts hypothesizing possible methods of infection."

"Oh really," Hermione perked up. "That could narrow down our list of possible curses! What are they?"

Draco swallowed and then continued, "Blood-born, air-borne, by a possible vector, although none are listed here. And magic."

"What?" Hermione stopped flipping through the file on her lap.

"I said," Draco cleared his throat, "That he thinks that the reason it is spreading so quickly is that it is spread through magical contact. His theory here is that if the caster is infected, then the receiver will also get it."

"But that means…" Darlene broke in. "The man who hit Sam with the Stun spell had it, he died a few days later. Does that means Sam has it?"

Hermione said very slowly, "We won't know unless he begins to get symptoms of the disease. Until then, Draco and I will just have to continue researching."

Draco nodded, still seeming stunned.

It was then that Hermione remembered a vital fact. "Draco… when we first got here, Sam hit you with a Stinging Jinx."

"That had occurred to me, Hermione," Draco trembled. "So, I think it would be safest if you took my wand, so that I can't spread it, if such is the case."

Hermione wanted to reassure him, but with nothing to say in comfort, all she could do was take his wand and stow it beside her own.

The next day, Sam came down with a high fever and severe nausea. Hermione used several spells to ward herself against blood-born infection and put on a pair of ordinary muggle gloves. Then she took several blood samples and started looking at them under a microscope. It was confirmed by the end of the day, the strain in use by the virus was Ebola Zaire, the most deadly of any known filovirus. By then, Sam had to go into quarantine where he started to vomit blood.

There was nothing to be done for the other Auror except keep him hydrated and to keep him restrained so he didn't hurt himself. Darlene was in shock for a lot of the days that followed, because she was the last Auror alive that had been sent in originally, and Sam had been with her since the first day. Draco tried to keep an eye on her, but he felt that it was really her who should be watching him.

Hermione worked around the clock working on samples of blood from infected people. By the third day, the cells of Sam's organs were beginning to die, turning his insides to mush. Hermione discovered that somehow the Ebola virus had been combined with influenza to become airborne. After that, Draco began wearing a muggle mask to stop himself from infecting anyone else. Because he was starting to feel nauseous and he thought he might be coming down with a fever. And after watching Sam's condition deteriorate so quickly, it was terrifying to know what fate awaited him.

By the fourth day, Darlene wasn't speaking to anyone and mostly sat in the corner by herself staring out the window. Sam was in a coma and was beginning to bleed out of his orifices and underneath his skin. Draco's eyes had turned red in the same manner that Sam's had a few days earlier, and he'd given Hermione a sample of his own blood so that she could run tests on it. He forbade her from informing either Ron or Harry of the results. By nightfall, Hermione had concluded that it was indeed able to pass through magical transmission, because Draco had the virus. Darlene wasn't eating anything. Draco knew that he would be in no state to communicate with anyone for much longer and that he was only a couple of days behind Sam. As for Sam, he died later that night, bleeding out in violent spasms that sent torrents of crimson to spray around the quarantine room. Hermione wisely did not comment that it was theorized that this was another method of transmission.

That night, he wrote a letter to Ron and another to Harry, thanking them for deciding to be a part of his life in spite of their turbulent past. He also told them he wished them well in their future, and to be happy and safe. He ended by telling them that it had been a pleasure to know them and that he was happy that his life had not been a complete waste of time. He put them on his bedside table for Hermione to find. Then, he went to sleep, knowing that by the next morning he would start losing parts of his personality to the virus. Then, he would either survive, or he would not. The odds were not in his favour. He only wished that he didn't need to leave Hermione alone like this, by herself in a hostile environment. And also, that he had the courage to tell people his true feelings, because he'd never get another chance. He fell slowly into darkness, and after that, he knew no more.

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I feel kind of bad for doing this to Draco… I'd be terrified in his position.


	14. The Cure

Okay, last chapter! This took soooo long to finish! Sorry about that, but it's finally done, so I feel accomplished at long last! I briefly apologize for any mistakes made in this story as I have no beta. Thanks for reading of you made it this far!

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling and I am simply borrowing her characters for my own use.**

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Draco blinked in the startlingly bright light that enveloped him, trying to see past it to what lay beyond. His eyes watered and he tried to blink it away, but his vision remained stubbornly elusive. He was somewhere warm, and something was tangled around him. He pulled it away from him, and tried to stand up. He was on top of something, because when he swung his legs around, they dangled over the edge. He carefully pushed off of whatever it was, and his feet encountered cold. Did dead people feel cold? He wasn't certain.

"Oh, don't stand up!" came a sudden voice.

After blinking a few more times, his vision finally came back into focus. He was in a sterile white room, and it was still blindingly bright. Three faces were peering at him in concern.

"Window," he rasped out, throat feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. "Blinds!"

A person with black, messy hair pulled them shut, and then turned to look at him.

"You're awake," Harry said softly.

"I'm… alive?" Draco turned his eyes to Hermione questioningly.

"I thought you weren't going to pull through," she whispered. "Your organs were deteriorating and you had gone unconscious. I was certain you were going to die, when suddenly, you took a turn for the better. And then, you just… stopped dying. And returned to normal, all your organs healed themselves and everything."

"So, I suppose I was one of the lucky 10%, huh?" Draco looked at his lap.

"Yeah," Ron shook his head. "Going and almost dying on us already, eh Malfoy? Knew we'd make a lion of you yet."

"No way!" Draco scowled at him. "It was just an unfortunate side effect of…"

"Being heroic, yeah, we know," Harry grinned. "We've been through this before."

"But I haven't even done anything," he glared at them. "All I did was manage to contract whatever-the-hell curse this was!"

"That's just the thing," Hermione bit her lip. "I've collected samples and researched, but I still haven't found the curse used to combine and spread the disease. All I could do was inform the Aurors how it's been spreading so that they can contain it. There is no cure or counter-curse to it yet."

"They're not letting us leave here," Harry reported. "This is the quarantine room of St. Mungo's, and we have to stay here until they can be sure we don't have it and you aren't infectious any longer. We brought you all the data and results, though. We need you to find the curse, Draco. If even Hermione can't figure it out, you're the only one we can trust to find it."

Draco cursed. This idea of theirs that Draco could be the one to uncover the cure was obviously rather insane. He was no closer than Hermione to finding the answer, and that was a fact. All he had to go on was that this curse was an unfortunate melding of Ebola Zaire, Influenza and an unknown curse that had not only combined the two diseases, but was using magic to pass along the infection. He'd been reading through his Dark Arts books again, but he knew Hermione had already been through them and had found nothing.

The most grim thought so far was that if they contained the virus long enough, then no one else would get it, and those who already had it would either live or die without contaminating everyone else. Draco didn't want to see that happen. The people caught in the quarantine zone didn't deserve to this condemnation just because they happened to be in the break-out zone. If he could find out what the curse was then he could make a vaccine to the disease.

Vaccine. There was something here he was missing, he was sure of it. It was there, floating around in the back of his brain… quickly he went over exactly how he would actually make the immunization for this curse. Okay, so it needed to combine the two diseases Ebola and Influenza together, plus the cure to both of them… how did this work? There were other vaccinations he knew of, like the one for Dragonpox and Spattergoit that had an anti-muggle twist to it because neither of these were muggle diseases, and no one wanted to accidentally expose muggles to a magical malady. And obviously, it used magic to transfer the diseases and the cures together to the intended patient… and viola, they were immunized to the disease due to the slight exposure plus the cure together…

Draco stopped dead in his tracks that he had been pacing around his library. An immunization charm. Whoever had created this thing had used a bloody _immunization charm_ to make a disease, and just left out the cure! It must have been mutated somehow, he was sure there was a jinx used to pass on unpleasant side effects… yes there, was! In fact Draco himself had used it, cursing everyone to use one particular charm on another to pass on a case of diarrhea… but that was just a childhood prank!

Draco shook his head in disbelief, but went to find Hermione to explain himself, thinking that it wasn't possible. But just in case it was…

Hermione was beside herself. She flung her arms around him and hugged him until he was breathless and rather alarmed at the sudden dose of affection. Dazed, he watched as the excitement spread, things were tested…

Much later, he sat on Harry's couch alone, listening to a group of excited Aurors babble in the kitchen. The trio had banded together to explain, leaving Draco to recover on the couch, exhausted from researching relentlessly. Everything had passed in a daze in the past few days. Upon Draco's discovery of the strange use of the immunization charm as a curse, the specialists in that field at St. Mungo's had all been investigated. As it turned out, one of the Healers had shared a possible hypothesis with one of his Unspeakable friends, and further digging turned up evidence that the man had experimented with different diseases and that _this_ one had gotten loose accidentally due to the incredibly high rate of infection.

Draco knew that for Ebola to spread it only needed to pass on five particles of the virus to the next victim – and there were millions of particles in a single drop of blood. No wonder the disease had spread so quickly and efficiently. The Unspeakable and his Healer friend were both going to stand trial for various crimes, and a cure was well on it's way to being synthesized right at that very moment.

Now all was left to do was… nothing. The crisis was over, everything would return to normal and that would leave Draco with nothing to do except try to find a job. And hardly anyone realized his involvement in the Ebola case, so his reputation remained extremely marred.

He let out a sigh and hung his head between his knees, running a hand through platinum locks. What to do?

"Why so glum, Draco?" Harry had entered the room while he was lost in though and he hadn't even noticed.

"I don't know, I'm just tired. That's all," Draco didn't really want to share such silly fears with the brave Gryffindor. Apparently heroes weren't afraid of anything, and since Draco was a hero now… according to Harry anyway.

"So, have you had any luck finding a job yet?" Harry asked, immediately hitting on exactly the problem that plagued his friend.

"I… no." Draco closed his eyes to avoid seeing Harry's disappointment, completely missing the green-eyed man's apprehensive glance. It wasn't just that he felt useless again, but without all the interaction the four of them had in the past few days, he felt _lonely_… what a stupid reaction! He was a Slytherin, he didn't _need_ anyone…

"Oh… well, the thing is…" Harry nervously toyed with the end of his tie. "The Auror department is down quite a few members… including a Dark Arts specialist…"

"I see," Draco said. Obviously what Harry was trying to say was that because of this recent work shortage, he'd be working more. And wasn't going to be home often. And had no time to spare to hang out with Draco.

"Er, I don't think you do, not exactly," Harry peered at him with anxious emerald orbs. "We need that position filled immediately, and there aren't many people qualified to fill it. But there is a person I know of who is well versed in this subject. And he's brave and loyal, and perfect for the job, and the Head Auror has already asked to interview him for the job at my recommendation…"

"So go tell him then!" scowled Draco. Why was Harry bothering him with this!?

"I-I _am_ telling him…" Harry ducked his head. "He just isn't listening to me very well… cause even though he's brave, and loyal, and perfect, he's also rather stubborn and has a rather too low opinion of himself…"

Draco looked up slowly, "Potter… are you offering _me_ a job?"

Draco's head was whirling with the endless possibilities… he could have a well-respected job again, people might even stop sneering at him, he wouldn't have to live on the streets anymore, in disgrace… and he could spend time with Harry… and Ron and Hermione…

"Yes, I suppose I am," Harry met his eyes hopefully.

"When's the interview?" he queried with deliberate solemnity.

Harry's evergreen eyes lit up, and as he opened his mouth to reply, Draco stopped him with a cupped hand over his mouth.

"Harry, are you telling me I'm perfect?" he asked, with equal seriousness. Cause he knew he was nowhere near perfect.

Harry favoured him with a gentle grin and said, "Close enough."

And Draco believed him.

FIN

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Yay! I'm glad I'm finally done. This was a rather serious fic, and not nearly as light-hearted as I generally write, so if you stuck around for the whole grim tale, thanks so much!


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